You Can't Wait Forever
by scathach124
Summary: The wedding of Sybil Crawley and Tom Branson is taking place in Dublin, though as one love story reaches the beginning of its happily ever after, another one has yet to become reality – that of Mary and Matthew Crawley. But with little bit of help from Tom's family, their love may finally come to light.
1. A Different World

_Hello readers! If you've visited my Tumblr recently or anyone else's who is celebrating this month's **Rock the Wedding AU!** , you may have noticed a photoset preview of this story. This story is based off a prompt that The Yankee Countess sent me a long while back, in which Matthew attends the Branson's wedding along with Mary and Edith. Not only that, but he gets dragged into Tom's stag party, and a few confessions are unexpectedly revealed (!). Now I know that these Rock the AU!s are usually meant for SybilxTom, but even though this is MaryxMatthew centered story, Sybil and Tom still have a major role to play. _

_A few quick notes: this AU deviates somewhat from canon between 2x8 and this story, in that both Mary and Matthew are no longer engaged to their respective fiancé(e)s – Mary finally breaks things off between her and Richard Carlisle because she can no longer stand him (whether or not he's still deciding to expose her dark secret to the press remains to be seen). And Lavinia survives Spanish flu, but having seen Mary and Matthew dancing together, decides to let Matthew go and returns to London (because I_ cannot _stand the fact that she had to die for Mary and Matthew to be together). We're also going to be seeing some of Tom's family next chapter, some of which are OCs or altered from what we see in the show._

 _Happy reading! And as always, thanks to all the followers and reviewers. Your support is greatly appreciated._

* * *

 _ **You Can't Wait Forever**_

Chapter One: A Different World

 _June 1919_

Edith poked her head into Mary's room. Clothes were strewn about on the bed, along with an open suitcase. Mary was alone with a couple of hat boxes. Edith asked. "Are you almost finished packing?"

"I think so," Mary muttered. She held up a fancy hat that was really only meant to be worn at a high society wedding. "Do you think this is too fancy to bring along? I fear it might be too extravagant for a more … quiet ceremony."

Edith scrutinized the hat in Mary's hands. "Maybe it is too fussy. Just bring along one of the hats you wear for church. That's what I'm doing."

"I may actually follow your advice for once." Mary sighed and plopped the hat back down in its box. "It feels so funny to be preparing for a wedding that doesn't require us to be dressed in lace and pearls and the fanciest hats ever made. I always imagined when one of us got married it would be an exorbitant affair, with the whole family attending." She turned around to Edith. "I take it Papa hasn't changed his mind."

Edith shook her head. "He's still adamant about staying here. Him and Mama both. I know Sybil didn't send them an invitation, but maybe she's still hoping they'll surprise her and come anyway."

Mary tutted. "It's such a shame. The first one of us to be married, and all Papa can think about is how Sybil's disappointed him."

"It is too bad," Edith said, "but I suppose Matthew being there won't make Sybil's side seem so dismal."

"What?" Mary gaped. "Matthew's going to the wedding?"

Edith nodded. "Yes, didn't you know? Cousin Isobel told me he's joining us on the trip over."

Mary frowned slightly. "When did she tell you that? Wait, was he even invited?"

"Of course; he got an invitation, same as we did," Edith answered, as if it were perfectly logical. "I can't believe you didn't know."

"Nobody bothers telling me anything until the last minute, that's why," Mary said sourly. "So he's actually coming with us to Dublin for Sybil's wedding?"

"I thought I made that obvious," Edith replied. "Is it such a difficult notion for you to grasp, Matthew being at Sybil's wedding?"

Mary let out a disgruntled sigh, throwing her arms out in exasperation. "I just … I wouldn't think he was in the mood for a wedding, since Lavinia called his off."

Edith shrugged. "Well, I think it's good he's coming along. It won't seem like such a dismal affair if someone else from the family besides the two of us is there. And anyhow," she added smugly, "the two of you will have a change to spend some time together."

Mary, appalled at Edith's not-so-subtle-suggestion, hissed in reply, "What in God's name do you mean by _that_?"

"Nothing, I meant nothing," Edith said innocently. "You just … you never talk to each other anymore."

"Is that so much of an issue?" Mary groaned. "Seeing as his fiancée just ended their engagement, I doubt the last person he wants to talk to is me."

It was Edith's turn to ask, "What are you saying? Did something happen between you and Matthew?"

Mary mentally cursed for letting that small detail slip out of her mouth, and she rapidly turned away. She could feel her face growing hot, and it was sure to show. "Never mind that, I just misspoke. Besides, Matthew and I are still friends. That hasn't changed."

Edith didn't say anything, as if standing in disbelief. Mary aggressively tossed a pair of kid gloves into her suitcase. "If you aren't going to help me finish packing I don't see any more reason for you to be in here."

Hardly taken aback by Mary's sudden hostility, Edith backed out of the bedroom and closed the door, leaving Mary with her open suitcase and the realization that, during the next few days, she and Matthew wouldn't be able to avoid each other any more.

Why did things have to be so complicated between them now?

Since the day that Lavinia was declared to be free of Spanish flu, which happened to be the same day she asked for her bags to be packed and her train ticket to London was purchased, she hadn't spoken at all to Matthew. Everyone else figured that Mary was just giving him some space to recover from the unexpected end of the engagement – it was a shock to all, since the wedding had been due to take place only a few days after Lavinia became sick. But even after a month and a half, she still didn't feel ready to speak with him.

Matthew wasn't overtly heartbroken by Lavinia's decision; he acted guilty in a sense though, like he had made a mistake that he hadn't atoned for until it was too late. And Mary was well aware of why he felt the way he did – she herself couldn't help but wonder how much of a part she had played in the scheme of things.

* * *

Matthew found Mary standing at the railing of the ferry, looking out at the sunset over the Irish sea. Underneath her hat, a few strands of her hair had freed themselves from their pinnings and were whipping about in the wind. Her back was to him, but Matthew could still imagine the peaceful, pensive expression on her face as it gazed out over the dark amber water.

He walked closer to her, his shoes clapping against the deck. Mary heard him, as he figured she would, and turned around. "Hello there," she greeted with a faint smile. "What are you doing out here?"

"I thought I could use a walk before dinner," Matthew replied. It was entirely true, he _had_ come out onto the deck for a bit of fresh air, even though he knew that Mary was also outside, and they might encounter each other on the small deck. He came to stand beside her at the railing, both of them facing the sea."What about you? Here to admire the sunset?"

Mary shrugged. "It's a nice evening. I just didn't want to coop myself up in the cabin. It's ridiculously small, and it feels even more cramped since I have to share with Edith."

"Well, if it's any consolation, it's only for one night," Matthew said. "And you'll have separate rooms at the hotel in Dublin."

"Thank God for that."

Both of them realized this was the first actual conversation they were having since the night Lavinia became sick. There was a mutual feeling of ease finally, getting the chance to stand next to each other without seeming tense. The silence before hadn't been easy to bear, but now that it was broken they knew they were still friends.

"It's nice that you're coming along for the wedding," Mary said after a moment. "It won't seem like such a dismal affair if someone else from the family is there."

"Well, I didn't have it in me to turn down Sybil's invitation," Matthew shrugged, "especially when I heard that neither of your parents or your grandmother were going to attend. Is Sybil upset about that?"

"I'm sure she is, at least a little bit," Mary said, though she didn't know how Sybil felt about her parents being absent. "Of course they want her to be happy, and she's certainly going to be happy when she's married to Branson, but I think Papa's still rather disappointed."

Matthew seemed slightly confused. "He's disappointed that his daughter has found someone she truly loves?"

Mary paused, knowing that Matthew still found the high-mindedness of the aristocracy absurd and outdated. "He's … just not quite ready to believe that she's in love with a former servant."

"He'll have to get used to it eventually," Matthew said.

Mary snorted. "That might take years, if ever."

"What about you?" Matthew asked her. "Are you ready to call the former chauffeur your brother-in-law?"

"I don't know. I'm still getting used to it as well," Mary admitted. "I know as long as she's happy I should be happy, but it's just so hard to believe that they love each other when I never saw it happening in front of me."

Matthew turned to look at Mary, who was still watching the hull of the ship cut through the sea. "Just because you didn't see it doesn't mean it didn't happen, or that it isn't genuine. Sybil has left everything she's ever known to live in an entirely different world. I doubt she'd do it if her love for Tom wasn't strong enough."

It took Mary a moment to register that 'Tom' was the same person as 'Branson.' That was the thing as well: Sybil's Tom was different from the family's Branson. There was so much more to him than politics or driving apparently, and only Sybil knew the other side to him.

"I don't think I could give up the life I knew, even for someone I loved," she said. "Sybil's brave enough to do that, but I know I'm not."

"How do you know you couldn't?" Matthew asked.

"I just …" Mary sighed, searching for the right words. "I just don't think I could love someone that much. Besides, I doubt I could get away with marrying someone so different to my way of life."

"So you're quite certain your father would object to you falling in love with one of Tom's cousins?" Matthew teased.

Mary couldn't help but laugh suddenly, and loudly enough for another couple walking the deck to turn their heads to her. "I'm absolutely certain," she managed to say. She had every confidence that she wouldn't fall for any in the Branson clan in the span of a few days.

"No matter how handsome any of them are?" Matthew pressed on, despite Mary's giggles.

"Oh Matthew, do stop it!" Mary gulped the cool ocean air to calm herself down. "We should … we should probably go inside now for supper."

There was still plenty of time before dinner was served, but Matthew didn't stop her as she walked away from him and back inside. He wondered if he has crossed a line: Mary wasn't one for speaking freely about love, and he shouldn't be the one to tease her about it. She probably wasn't in the mood to talk about matters of the heart, having only just ended her engagement with the horrid newspaper tycoon. It was best for her, Matthew thought, to be rid of that man, but now she wasn't any closer to finding real happiness with someone she loved.

And she deserved that at much as anyone.

* * *

Sybil was there to meet her sisters and Matthew at the ferry dock, with Tom hanging back in his cousin's car on the street. It had only been a few weeks since she had left Downton, but she was so excited, and so anxious as well, to see part of her family again. Anyone seeing her broad smile would have guessed that she was reuniting after years apart, and indeed she felt worlds away from the people she'd left in England. She was so glad that her sisters had agreed to come over for the wedding, and even better with Matthew joining them as well.

She had at first hesitated at sending invitations to those at home – her former home – but she figured she could at least depend on Edith and Mary to come. Not surprisingly, her parents had declined, as did her grandmother, the reason given that Mama was still not in a state to travel far from home. As for Papa and Granny … Sybil understood why they did not decide to come over, and she had not been expecting them to anyhow. She knew how Papa still felt about her and Tom. She was disappointed that her parents would not be present for what was sure to be, so far, the happiest day of her life, but it would be enough to share it with her sisters and cousin.

Anna was the first down the gangplank, holding two bags that surely belonged to Mary and Edith (the ferry porters would be handling the larger bags). Sybil pushed forward and called out her name, hoping that Anna wouldn't miss her. Anna glanced around in confusion for a few seconds before catching sight of Sybil, and she smiled as she rushed forward.

"Lady Sybil, there you are," Anna said. She allowed Sybil to give her a careful hug. "I'm sorry, I need to get the other bags. Lady Mary and Lady Edith are coming out soon."

"Tom's waiting in the car in front of the terminal," Sybil explained. "And please, you don't need to call me Lady Sybil here. Actually, I would prefer it you didn't."

"Understood," Anna replied, though it was easier said than done. Sybil had been called 'Lady' her entire life by the servants at Downton, including Anna. It would be hard for them to see her as anything but a lady, or call her simply by her first name.

Anna pushed through the crowd to get through the terminal, and Sybil remained at the front of the crowd so that the others could see her as soon as they descended the gangplank. She knew this was a strange experience for all of them – Mary and Edith had never been to Dublin, and she didn't think Matthew had ever been to Ireland. She remembered how much of an outsider she had felt when coming to Dublin for the first time, to live as an ordinary person. Thankfully, then she had been holding on to Tom's arm as she walked down the gangplank and through the streets, guiding her through unfamiliar country, and she'd help her sisters do the same during their visit.

There was no mistaking it was them when they came down the gangplank: they stood out from the rest in their tailored travel attire. Sybil called out their names, waving her hands until they could see her. As soon as Edith was off the gangplank she rushed forward as quickly as her skirt would allow, greeting Sybil with a big smile. Sybil threw her arms around her sister and nearly knocked her to the ground.

"Oh Sybil! Do be careful!" Edith laughed. "I still feel like I'm on the boat and rocking with it."

Sybil didn't release Edith until she saw Mary and Matthew over Edith's shoulder. "Mary!" she gasped. "It's so good to see you at last!"

"Hello darling," Mary replied. She let Sybil give her a light kiss on the cheek. "Lovely to see you as well."

Still grinning brightly, Sybil turned to Matthew. "I'm so glad you decided to come. It means so much to Tom and I."

"Well, I didn't see any reason why I couldn't come," Matthew said. "Although I was quite surprised to receive an invitation, since I'm not immediate family."

"Don't be silly," Sybil said, touching his arm gently for encouragement. "You are close family to me."

She noticed he didn't have the walking stick he had used after he regained use of his legs, so she took that to mean he was all or mostly recovered. She had thought that when he responded to her invitation to say he was coming to the wedding. He seemed to be in brighter in spirits as well. It was a relief to finally see him not as a soldier or an invalid, but as himself.

It was a good thing that he was looking well, because Tom planned to have him there at the pub with his male relatives and friends the night before the wedding, and a man had to be in good health to survive a night of drinking with the Branson boys.

"Tom's waiting by the car, and Anna should be there too," Sybil said, leading the way off the dock. "We'll drive you straight to the Shelbourne so you can freshen up. If you aren't too tired, Tom and I were thinking we'd have tea in the lounge there together. Or if you do want to rest, we'll wait until supper."

"Sybil, it's alright," Mary hushed her. "As horrid as it was to have to share a cabin with Edith, I did manage to sleep soundly. Some tea would be lovely, nonetheless."

Sybil stifled a giggle as Edith shot Mary a dark look. "I have so much to tell you about the wedding. I know it's not going to be like anything you're used to at home, but I'm absolutely thrilled all the same. The church is stunning inside, and the pub where the wedding breakfast will be is rather spacious – with the decorations it will look gorgeous as well – so hopefully it won't feel too crowded with so many of Tom's relations coming over—"

"You're babbling, Sybil," Mary reprimanded gently.

"I'm sorry. I'm just so excited," Sybil said sheepishly.

"And you have every reason to be," Matthew said. "It's your wedding day."

 _My wedding day,_ Sybil thought. _Our wedding day_. She could hardly believe it. "I'll explain the plans when we're sitting down for tea."

They got to the street, where Tom had parked his cousin's car. Anna was helping the porters strap on the other luggage. Tom was standing on the pavement, patiently waiting for Sybil to return with her family.

"Hello, Br – Tom," Edith greeted politely. She extended her hand. "How do you do?"

Almost shyly, Tom shook Edith's hand. "I'm well, Lady Edith." He nodded to Mary, then Matthew. "Lady Mary … Mr Crawley. I hope you're all well."

"We are, Mr Branson," Mary said, a bit too reserved towards someone who was going to be her brother-in-law.

Sybil shook her head disapprovingly. "You ought to start calling each other by just your first names. You're going to be family, and Tom, you aren't their servant anymore," she chided gently.

"That seems reasonable," Matthew agreed. He extended his hand to Tom. "It's good to see you again, Tom."

Tom gave a small smile. "Good to see you as well, Matthew."

The porters got the luggage securely fastened to the back of the car, and everyone piled in, Tom and Anna in the front seats and the others in the back. "We decided we'll have tea at the Shelbourne after all," Sybil explained to Tom, "once everyone has freshened up."

"So they'll get to meet the others today," Tom said, revving up the engine.

"The others?" Mary asked curtly. "Who are you talking about?"

Tom glanced back at Sybil. "Did you not tell them?"

Sybil cringed. "I didn't really get the chance to tell them before." She turned back to her perplexed sisters and Matthew. "Some of Tom's family, his brother Kieran and a few cousins, wanted to meet you before the wedding, so we invited them to have tea with us, as long as you were alright with it."

"With having tea or meeting Branson's family?" Mary asked.

"Mary, please," Sybil sighed. "I think you'll find Tom's family to be quite pleasant."

Mary pursed her lips. Sybil understood that Mary didn't know Tom very well, and that her opinion of his family was simply due to her ignorance of what the Bransons were really like. There was more to them than politics or English oppression. Already she had gotten to know some of his closer relatives fairly well, and while they were certainly heavily involved in politics, they could be rather endearing as well.

"I think that's nice," Matthew said, keeping Mary from possibly making another jibe. "It'll give us a chance to get to know Tom's side of the family."

Sybil nodded, relieved to have Matthew along to act as peacemaker. "There will be many more at the wedding," she warned. "But we're meeting the cousins whom Tom is closest to. I also find them the most agreeable after a long day."

Tom chuckled as he turned the car onto the street. Mary shifted stiffly in her seat, and she didn't say anything more until they arrived at the Shelbourne.


	2. Meeting the Family

_Sorry it's taken so long for this next chapter – I know this month is almost over, but I'll continue the story despite a new Rock the AU! coming for July. Thanks so much to all the people who are following this fic, and even more thanks to those who have reviewed it._

* * *

Chapter Two: Meeting the Family

After arriving at the Shelbourne, Mary, Edith, and Matthew were allowed some time to freshen up in their rooms while Tom collected his cousins and brother. Sybil decided to remain at the Shelbourne and wait patiently in the lobby for his return, which she was certain would be within half an hour.

Mary noted the suite she and Edith were sharing was smaller than in most of the other hotels she had stayed at, but it still contained a servants' quarters for Anna and a small sitting room. It was better than she had expected, to be truthful: the rooms were tidy and cozy, and though the décor seemed understated to her, it was rather grand compared to what she had seen so far of Dublin.

The part of the city that the hotel was located at, around St. Stephen's Green, seemed to be the only place in Dublin that people like the Crawleys would want to be seen in. The drive from the docks to the Shelbourne, however, had taken them through some rather less-than-appealing areas. Mary had to remind herself that London was much the same, with both distinguished and sordid areas, but London was familiar territory, with a familiar type of people. Dublin felt like a distant land, and she knew enough about attitudes here that her class wasn't considered the norm, or even well-regarded.

 _How did Sybil manage it_ , she wondered as she looked out onto the street, _to_ _grow into her new life without seeming like an outcast_? Surely Tom's family knew that she grew up as a lady in the upper-class, surrounded by servants and gardens and heavy jewelry. What did they make of her, and of Tom who had fallen in love with her in spite of his ardent views against the aristocracy and England? It must have been hard to explain that to his family, being an Irish republican who loved an English earl's daughter.

But they must have learned to at least accept it, or else they wouldn't be having the wedding here, with his side of the family to fill the church sanctuary.

On the street, she saw Tom return with the car, presumably with the people they were going to have tea with. Mary watched as two men and a woman climbed out of the car, looked around briefly, then followed Tom into the lobby. Since the suite was on the third floor she couldn't see their faces very well, but she figured she'd know what they looked like in just a few minutes.

Edith came out of her bedroom, her travel clothes replaced by an afternoon dress. "Branson's back with his relatives," Mary told her.

"How many people are with him?" Edith asked.

"Just three others," Mary answered. "His brother must be one of them, and the other two are likely his cousins."

"Oh." Edith seemed surprised. "I thought there'd be more."

"He didn't say he was bringing his entire family," Mary countered, "or even very many people. He said just a few cousins. I don't think he'd overwhelm us with half of his family today."

"But at the wedding, I imagine there'll be plenty of family members to overwhelm us," Edith responded snidely.

Mary sighed. "Let's not … let's not be that way towards Tom's family. For Sybil's sake. You know she'd have a fit if she overheard us."

Not that her opinion of Tom's family was high, but she had seen the expression on Sybil's face when they had been discussing Tom's relatives coming to tea, and she didn't want to make her little sister any more upset. No matter what, she didn't want to be the one to agitate Sybil so close to her wedding day, not with so much else to fluster her. She didn't know how Tom's brother and cousins would be towards her, but they'd likely look upon her as an outsider who had no place in Ireland, and it was perhaps best that no one gave them reason to despise the Crawleys any further.

"We should go down now, I saw them go into the lobby," Mary said. Edith followed her out of the suite and into the corridor. They were about to walk down the stairs when Mary stopped, and turned back to the corridor.

"What are you doing?" Edith asked.

"I'm going to get Matthew. He wouldn't have seen Tom come back," Mary explained. "You go downstairs and wait for us."

Edith did as Mary told her to, but as Mary was already retreating down the corridor she didn't catch Edith biting back a smile.

Matthew's room didn't face the street, as it was on the other side of the hall, opposite Mary and Edith's suite. She knocked on the door, then stepped back at hearing Matthew's footsteps on the carpet close to the door.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Tom's family is here," Mary said back.

Matthew opened the door. He was wearing the same suit that he had been wearing that same morning on the boat, but Mary understood that Matthew wasn't the type of person to change clothes as frequently as she did. He still looked quite presentable, nevertheless, and certainly not as hesitant about meeting the Bransons as she was.

"Right then," he said as he closed the door behind him and locked it. "Shall we … er, walk down together?"

Mary cracked a slight smile. "Well, we're going the same way. I don't see any other way about it."

"I suppose not," Matthew murmured.

They walked to the end of the hallway and down the stairs, not saying anything. Mary wondered if she should ask Matthew of what he thought the Bransons would be like, but she decided it wasn't worth discussing now: they'd both find out soon.

In the lobby, Sybil and Edith were standing by Tom at the archway leading to the tea room. The three other people, whom Mary had seen getting out of the car a few minutes earlier, were with them. Everyone turned their heads in near perfect unison as Mary and Matthew descended down the stairs.

"There you are," Sybil smiled. "I wondered why I didn't see you with Edith."

Mary rolled her eyes. "I just went to fetch Matthew, that's all."

Sybil hoped she didn't look too pleased at the sight of Mary and Matthew walking down the stairs together. When she had left Downton they had seemed to have a bit of a discomfort in each other's company, but now that seemed resolved. "Well, since everyone is here now, we can finally start with the introductions."

Mary looked at the three unfamiliar people standing before her. There was no doubt that these were Tom's brother and cousins; they shared a resemblance with each other, particularly the men, whose fringes of brown hair fell in much the same way. The young woman had lighter curls underneath her hat and a face that was both mature and innocent, almost like Sybil's.

Tom commenced the introductions, gesturing to each person from his family in turn as he said their names. "This is my older brother, Kieran. And my cousins, Damien and Nuala Branson."

Damien and Nuala, both of whom were slightly shorter than Tom, smiled shyly. Kieran, on the other hand, stood rigid with his arms folded across his chest.

Sybil then presented her own family. "My older sisters, Edith, and Mary. And cousin Matthew – well, he's really more of a distant cousin."

Her sisters faintly smiled and nodded their heads politely, but Matthew held out his hand to Damien, who was closest to him. "How do you do, Mr Branson?"

Damien looked mildly stunned, as if the fact that Matthew Crawley wanted to shake hands with him, but he took Matthew's hand and shook it warmly. "Very well today, sir. But if you don't mind, you can call me Damien. No one's called me 'Mr Branson' since I was a schoolboy."

"Alright then," Matthew replied, "as long as none of you call me 'sir' again."

He made to offer Kieran his hand, but Tom's older brother remained with his arms crossed. "Mr Crawley," he said, nodding shortly.

Matthew's hand dropped. He was prepared to let it be, but Tom wasn't letting Kieran get away with his spurn.

"Kieran," he said in quiet warning tone, "I thought I told you—"

"You told me I'd be having tea with them," Kieran cut in, "and I agreed I'd be civil. But I never agreed to shake hands with them."

Damien moaned, apparently anticipating a reprisal of a previous quarrel. "Do you really have to do this right now?"

But he went ignored by his cousins. Everyone aside from Tom and Kieran stood awkwardly as the two brothers stared hard at each other. Sybil only ever saw Tom's face that red when his brother made him angry. It was clear that he was more offended than Matthew was at being snubbed.

"Kieran, they're Sybil's family," Tom said, trying keep his voice down. "I know they're not _our_ lot, but their _her_ family, and it's for that reason you'll treat them with respect."

Sybil worried her lip. She had somehow known Kieran might try something like this. She was fully aware that Kieran held no love for anyone who lived in England, but over and over again Tom had reminded him that he needed to be on his best behavior towards the Crawleys or else he'd kick him off the guest list for the wedding. Kieran was unlikely to set aside his political viewpoints, even for just an afternoon, but being threatened with not being able to attend his brother's wedding had probably struck a nerve.

Kieran finally gave a huff of annoyance. "Fine then, Tommy. I apologize, Mr Crawley," he said stiffly to Matthew.

"It's not … it doesn't matter," Matthew faltered. He hated being the one to get people worked up, even though he wasn't at fault.

Tom's face was still red as Sybil touched his arm. But the tension felt between the two families disappated as Nuala stepped towards Mary and offered a sisterly embrace. It was a pleasant surprise to watch Mary allow Nuala to hug her like she would allow Sybil to, particularly since Nuala was little more than a stranger to Mary.

"It's so good that you're here," Nuala said cheerfully. "Damien and I've been looking forward to meeting all of you. We've heard so much about you from Sybil."

"Good things, I presume," Mary said dryly, giving Sybil a pointed glance.

"The same with you, Lady Edith," Nuala added, giving Edith a welcome embrace as well. "My mother insists that any sisters a bride has must accompany her on her wedding day, to give her courage."

Edith snickered. "Sybil has so much courage she won't need our help to simply walk down the aisle."

"You might be surprised," Sybil countered. "I'm so nervous that I'll trip over my dress or faint on my way to the altar."

"I'm certain you won't, not with your family here now," Nuala assured her.

Sybil felt the anxiety of having her family meet Tom's finally ease up – she could at least depend on Nuala and Damien to be welcoming to her sisters and Matthew. And Kieran, she hoped, would soften up a bit once he realized that they weren't representative of the English governent. It had taken some time for Kieran to warm up to her, but he accepted her now, more for being a hardworking woman than for being born an English lady.

"Shall we go in for tea now?" she suggested.

The party of eight were shown into the tea room by the maître d'hôtel, and as they were guided to their large table, Damien let himself fall into line next Matthew, who was hanging back at the end of the group.

"Ah, Matthew? You shouldn't take that personally. It takes a while for Kieran to warm to anyone new."

It would take more than Damien's word to convince Matthew that Kieran could display friendliness to anyone, least of all an Englishman. "I doubt he'll warm to me in the time that I'm here."

They sat down at the wide table in a private corner, the Bransons on one side and the Crawleys on the other. Tea was ordered, and for a few moments afterwards the only conversation that was carried concerned the Crawleys' journey to Dublin, and some briefing about how the family was back at Downton. There wasn't much Sybil wasn't already aware of – she knew Mama was recuperating well from her horrific bout of flu, and Edith had written her about the terminated engagements of Mary and Matthew. She wasn't so eager to hear about how things were back home as she was to describe her new life in Dublin with the Bransons.

"You're living with Tom's mother still?" Mary asked after a time, the start to the topic Sybil desired.

"Yes I am, and she's been so gracious letting me stay with her," Sybil answered, grinning at Tom. "And Tom's living over at Damien and Nuala's home, which is rather close by. So we don't have to walk far to see each other."

"Though we're certain Tom would slog through the entire city just to see Sybil," Damien added, practically speaking aloud Tom's thoughts.

Sybil blushed. "Damien, please."

"Don't embarrass her," Nuala scolded softly.

Damien chuckled. "Alright, I'll stop – but it's true." He winked at Tom, who resisted the urge to give him a forceful nudge. "You'd cross oceans for each other."

Mary cleared her throat. "So, all of you live close by to one another? How … convenient."

"It truly is," Sybil replied smartly. "We see each other often. In fact, I see Nuala nearly every day. She comes to Mrs Branson's home to help around the house and to keep me company. She helped me get settled when I first arrived, walking with me around the neighbourhood and teaching me how to cook some recipes. She's been such a dear to me, with everything she's done for me."

"I've hardly done anything," Nuala said quickly, but Sybil shushed her, folding her hands on top of Nuala's.

"Nonsense! You're my best friend here in Dublin, and I owe so much to you. There's no one else I'd choose to have as my maid of honour."

Nuala ducked her head, smiling bashfully. "Thank you, Sybil. That's so kind of you to say," she told Sybil.

The smile that Nuala and Sybil shared sent a pang through Mary's heart; they were so much like proper sisters, sisters who cared for and supported each other – and they had known each other for hardly two months! But she could see the bond already ran deep, and she understood what Sybil had meant when she had mentioned the cousins they were meeting were 'most agreeable after a long day.' Nuala was the sister Sybil had always deserved, someone who clearly had nothing but her best interests at heart.

Two pots of tea arrived, as did the tiered platter of small sandwiches and pastries. Nuala and Damien's eyes lit up at the pretty display. "How lovely," Nuala gasped. "This is such a treat."

She took one teapot and began pouring for her brother and her cousins, as Sybil did the same with her sisters and Matthew. The plates of food were handed around the table until everyone, including Kieran, had something on their plate.

"I suppose you're used to this sort of thing," Damien said, looking at Mary who was taking a tentative sip of the strong milky liquid. "Fancy teas and the like."

Mary arched her brow, setting her teacup down in the saucer with a disatisfied _clink_. "Well, on normal days our teas aren't as extravagant as this," she began, her tone reminiscent of a governess schooling her charges. "It's usually quite simple, actually."

Her eyes flickered cursorily towards Kieran, seeing if he might actually believe that fact, and then to Sybil to see if she was right to make that statement. She was under the impression that the Bransons assumed her lifestyle to be more ostentatious than it would appear to her, and although she wanted to make it clear that they weren't served a formal tea every single afternoon, she also knew that she couldn't make her day-to-day life seem as ordinary as the Bransons lives were. The fact that her family rarely had a tea like this one wouldn't diminish the fact that they had dozens of servants, acres of land all to themselves, rank that they were born into, and were without the need to work. No matter how humble she tried to be, it probably wouldn't change how they viewed her class overall.

Sybil decided the conversation needed to be diverted from anything concerning Downton or the people back home – otherwise, both families risked being further alienated from each other. This wasn't the time to touch upon class politics, which would only rile Kieran more than he probably already was. She cleared her throat, gaining everyone's attention.

"Now that we have our tea, I want to tell you about all the plans we've made for the wedding," she began, excitement unintentionally creeping into her voice. She paused then, glancing quickly around the table, most particularly towards Mary and Matthew. "That is, of course, if you want to hear them …"

She was still mindful that both Mary and Matthew's engagements had ended only weeks before. She knew for a fact that Mary hadn't even set a date for her wedding with Sir Richard Carlisle – but even worse for Matthew, that the decorations had been put up only a few days before Lavinia took ill, and removed the same evening she left Downton. Would they be willing to listen to a vivid report of her own wedding plans, which might only remind them that wouldn't be going through the same in the near future?

"Don't be silly – of course we want to hear about your plans," Mary said brightly, but with a hint of reluctance. Was it due to hesitance about hearing wedding plans, or Sybil's specifically?

Sybil looked to Matthew next, just to be sure there were no reservations on his part.

"Yes, certainly," Matthew agreed, sounding like his tongue was dry. "Go ahead, Sybil. Let's hear them."

So with that, Sybil and Tom led the conversation, going through every detail about the wedding preperations they could think of: how the church was decorated and what the service would be like, about the pub where the wedding breakfast and reception would be, Sybil's quest in acquiring her wedding dress with the help of Nuala and Mrs Branson (though she didn't touch on what the dress looked like), and a few little things in between. Mary, Edith, and Matthew listened with interest, their reservations about the wedding gradually waning. Damien and Nuala also supplied them with names of some other family members, giving the Crawleys an even clearer idea of just how extensive the Branson family was. Kieran was mostly silent, though he seemed to lose some of his stoicness – he managed to unfold his arms and take a few tetative bites out of a tea sandwich. Once or twice, Tom could have sworn he saw Kieran smile slightly.

As the discussion continued on smoothly, Tom reached across the table and affectionately squeezed Sybil's hand, as if to say 'I told you things would turn out all right.' Her family and his family were getting along just fine, despite the momentary awkwardness in the lobby – even Kieran seemed to be enjoying himself, and Mary had lost most of her stony formality. Sybil squeezed his fingers in response, along with giving him a smile of consolation.

"So, what do you have planned for your last night before you are wed?" Mary asked Sybil.

"I don't know completely, to be perfectly honest," Sybil shrugged. "Mrs Branson wants some of the female relations to come to her house, but as what she has planned, I'm not entirely certain."

Nuala patted her arm reassuringly. "Don't worry, Sybil, it won't be anything too wild; you know Mrs Branson."

Sybil didn't know what Mary had expected for an answer, but she was visibly relieved she wouldn't be dragged across some unknown part of Dublin to do … well, whatever it was she believed normal people did on the night before their wedding.

"The both of you are allowed to come, if you want. It's not exclusively for Tom's female relations. Actually, Mrs Branson _insisted_ that you should be there." Sybil was careful to make it clear that if Mrs Branson insisted on something, it would no't be in anyone's best interests to refuse her.

"Of course we'll be there," Edith answered. "It would be positively cruel of us not to join you."

"Cruel and senseless," Nuala put in. "You two have known her all her life, longer than anyone else here. Why wouldn't you be there?"

Mary looked down at her hands folded in her lap. So many reasons that she and Edith could have given for not coming for the wedding, several of which her parents, primarily her father, had used as rationalization for not joining them. To her, it sounded as though Nuala was implying that none of them were important enough to fail to be there for Sybil, and if she was, she was right.

"And what's in store for the groom?" Matthew inquired.

This elicited a wide grin from Kieran, one which showed his teeth. "For his stag night? It's a surprise for Tommy—"

"It's at Reilly's pub," Tom interjected. "I don't know anyone who didn't have his stag night there."

Kieran groaned and slumped back in his chair. "Well, you guessed where … but what happens there is still a secret."

Tom didn't look even remotely alarmed – he knew what went down at the stag nights for Branson men and most of his friends. Nevertheless, he looked to Matthew and urged him, "Promise me you'll keep them from doing anything that'll make me look like a fool on my wedding day."

The remark took a few seconds to register on Matthew. "What do you mean by that?" He frowned at Tom. "You don't—?"

Kieran and Damien were quietly snickering, ignoring Nuala firmly telling them to stop. "Did you not tell him before?" Kieran asked Tom.

"I was _going_ to, since we were on the topic of my stag night," Tom retorted. He turned back to Matthew and sighed apologetically. "I was planning to ask you to … join us … for the stag night."

Matthew blinked for several seconds, eventually letting out an embarassed laugh. "That's rather nice of you … but I don't think—"

"Ah, c'mon Matthew, it won't be as bad as you think," Damien said. "It's just a night at the pub—"

"A _very_ long night," Kieran interuppted, "with a lot of strong drink. See Tommy, I told you he'd shy away at the thought."

"I think Matthew's more than capable at staying sober than any of us," Tom shot back. "I've told you about all the wine and whiskey the Crawleys drink in the evening, and I never once had to drive him back home drunk."

"It's all watered down, I bet," Kieran muttered. "Mr Crawley, if you don't want to come, then you don't need to," he said in a tone that implied Matthew _shouldn't_ come. "It may be too much for a man like you to handle."

Damien shook his head. "Don't listen to him, Matthew. It'll be good fun, nothing too bizarre, I promise. And Tom will need someone to keep him from drinking himself under the table."

Matthew looked around at the Branson men nervously. "I don't know …"

"Matthew, I know it sounds absurd," Tom said, "but in all truthfulness I would like you to be there. I realize that to you, I'm not much more than the former chauffeur, but you are part of Sybil's family. After all, she sent you an invitation to our wedding, so why shouldn't I ask you to my stag night? And anyhow, Damien's got a point – I'm going to need you to keep an eye on me and make sure I'm not readying myself to go down the aisle with a hangover, since everyone else will be the worse for drink."

With another unsettled laugh, Matthew said, "I still don't think—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Mary cut in with an exaggerated sigh of annoyance. "Just go with Tom and the others. Edith and I will be at Mrs Branson's, and you shouldn't hole yourself up in the hotel room. Besides, you're the only one Tom apparently trusts to keep him in check."

"With good reason," Damien added.

Thanks to Mary's urging, Matthew found himself finally relenting. "Alright. I suppose I'll join the rest of you."

"Good man," Kieran said, though anyone could sense the slight disappointment in his voice. Tom knew he hadn't been expecting to have an Englishman present at a Dublin stag night, even just only one, so he figured that tonight he'd have to persuade Kieran not to get overwrought at the situation. Matthew was hardly aristocratic, and actually had a bit sympathy for their cause – surely Kieran would understand that Matthew wasn't much like his extended family.

And he _did_ need trust someone to keep him from drinking so much that he would be unable to stand upright at the altar the next morning.

* * *

After the tea ended, the visiting Crawleys retreated to their hotel rooms to relax before they had their dinner at the Shelbourne restaurant. Tom was in charge of driving Nuala and Sybil back to his mother's home before taking the men back to Damien's home. Kieran would have supper with them before walking back to his own home.

"That went rather well, wouldn't you say?" Damien remarked from the backseat. He was sitting opposite from Sybil and Nuala, who were nodding in agreement. Tom did the same as he clutched the steering wheel.

"I told you they'd be nice, didn't I?" Sybil replied.

"We never doubted you on that," Nuala said. "It was our side of the family that I was concerned about."

She was glaring crossly at the back of Kieran's head. Tom could see the frigid expression on his brother's face that he had worn while standing in the lobby of the Shelbourne.

"I was polite enough, wasn't I?" Kieran huffed.

"Not in the beginning," Nuala snapped.

"Please, let's not argue anymore about that," Sybil broke in. "Kieran _was_ civil for the most part, and I thank him for being that way." Her voice softened then. "And I'm glad that all of you got on so well with my family. It means so much to me."

"Well, your sisters and your cousin seemed a nice lot," Damien said.

"Only because Mary and Edith weren't bickering," Sybil quipped, "which they always do when they aren't around other people. Much like the rest of you."

They were driving out of the more glamourous area of Dublin and closer to home, where the brick houses were small and closely packed together on the narrow streets. Her family had been under the impression that she would be leaving Downton to live in a slum, but she would hardly describe it as such – the neighbourhood where the Bransons lived was occupied by the working class, but they were proud of their home and did the best they could to keep the streets and houses clean. There were places like this in York and London, so it shouldn't be that much of a shock when Mary and Edith came to Mrs Branson's house, yet she knew they'd still be unnerved by the fact that she called such a place 'home.'

 _God forbid Mama or Papa ever pay me a visit_ , she thought, despite knowing the likelihood of that was next to nothing.

Sybil had believed there wasn't much else to say about the afternoon, but Damien surprised her by asking. "Was it Mary who used to be engaged to Matthew?"

She knew that, at some point, Tom must have informed him about that brief period years ago. She wondered how long ago that had been, if Damien had remembered that and she hadn't. It had been such a long time ago, before the war, and she had quickly forgotten it for Mary's sake.

Mary's first broken engagement, and the one she was perhaps most ashamed about.

"It wasn't officially an engagement, though, because she never properly accepted Matthew's proposal. But yes, it was Mary," Sybil said. "But that was before the war."

Damien nodded. "I see. I thought that, from the way …" He trailed off.

Sybil furrowed her brow. Had he noticed something between Mary and Matthew? "From the way what?"

Damien's mouth hung open in an awkward way, as if unsure he should continue. "From the way … I saw them walk down the stairs to the lobby together, and at first I thought they were another couple … like a married couple."

Their feelings for each other were still so obvious, even though it had been years since either one would admit they had any. Sybil couldn't refute Damien's observation; she saw it too, had known throughout the war that they still cared deeply for one another, even when betrothed to other people. She had never pressed Mary into confessing that she was still in love with Matthew, since Mary would never admit it.

But seeing them sitting together at tea, even hearing Mary upbraid Matthew for shying away from Tom's stag night, Sybil could see why Damien had believed them to be a married couple. She had often wondered what their lives would be like had Mary accepted Matthew's proposal. Perhaps today she had gotten a glimpse of that.

"Well, they put all that behind them a long time ago," Sybil said. "They're still friends, so there's no grudge between them now. But I don't think they'll go further than that."

Damien didn't seem convinced that her statement was true, but he didn't press the subject any further, and Sybil was glad for it. She didn't want to think any more about what could have been between her sister and Matthew, or what might be. It would give her too much hope that, somehow, the two of them would stop being idiots and see what even strangers could see.

She remembered the first thought that had come to mind when she had heard both Mary and Matthew were no longer engaged. _If neither of them are engaged anymore, could they possibly come together again_? But she knew that wasn't a logical outcome – too much time had passed, and too much had come between them. They probably didn't know they were still in love themselves, and they wouldn't listen to anyone who tried to convince them they were. It simply wasn't meant to be now.

But that didn't mean they weren't right for each other anymore. Sybil was always convinced of that, and she still was.

At least _she_ was certain of her own heart, she thought, as she gave Tom a kiss when he stopped outside of his mother's house to let her and Nuala off. She couldn't wait for the days when she and Tom would live in their own home, when he would be the last thing she saw at night and the first thing when she awoke in the mornings. She might not be living the life of a lady anymore, but she was within reach of her own fairy-tale ending, spending the rest of her days with a man she loved deeply.

Hopefully, her sisters and Matthew might someday reach the same happy ending.

* * *

 ** _Some notes about Tom's family as written in this fic:_**

 _Kieran is, as in canon, Tom's older brother, but I've envisioned him to be more like Pádraic Delaney (I know some in the S/T boat fancast Michael Fassbender as him, so if you want to keep doing that, you do you and I'll do me)._ _Damien is an original character, and he's based off of Cillian Murphy's appearance in_ The Wind that Shakes the Barley _(which is a beautiful if stupidly tragic Irish film)._ _Nuala (full name Fionnuala) is mentioned but not see in Downton Abbey, as another cousin of Tom's (if you can remember why she was mentioned, that's going to come up later in this fic), so she's more of an OC to me. I've fancast Orla Fitzgerald as_ _Nuala. It's basically a_ The Wind that Shakes the Barley _reunion (but no one's going to die)._


	3. Stag Night Secrets

_Finally got another chapter completed, and tonight is Tom's stag night! This is an important part of the story since this is really the prompt that Yankee Countess requested: Matthew gets dragged to the stag night, accidentally drinks a little too much, and ends up revealing one or two secrets ... ;) . It was tough to write because I didn't want the conversation to sound forced, and at the same time there were parts that I had previously written that I wanted to fit in. But I think I'm satisfied with the final product, and I hope you readers are as well!_

 _As always, reviews are more than welcome, I truly appreciate it!_

* * *

Chapter Three – Stag Night Secrets

It had been unanimously assumed that Matthew would be the one to make sure Tom didn't guzzle down too much drink at the stag night, but before they were an hour into it, it seemed that their roles needed to be reversed.

The stag night began as anticipated, with Tom being practically shoved into a car with Kieran, Damien, a few other men, and a bewildered Matthew. The drive over uneven roads to the pub called Reilly's, a small establishment which was already packed with over a dozen more men waiting for the groom. From outside, excited whooping could be heard as nearly everyone clamoured to the windows to glimpse Tom's arrival, and as soon as the doors opened the noise exploded into raucous cheering and clapping. Despite his claim that he could walk through the doors on his own, Tom was roughly lifted up and carried inside by four of the largest men and nearly got his head whacked against the lintel. Matthew's ears were ringing when he followed Damien into the pub.

"Quite a sight now, isn't it Matthew?" Damien had to nearly shout for Matthew to hear him over the applause as Tom was set down in the middle of the pub. Matthew only nodded in response. Being from the upper-middle class, he'd never experienced anything other than a dignified, quiet night at a pub, and he had the feeling he'd be overwhelmed by the end.

Damien gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "You shouldn't look so worried – I can swear that nothing _too_ shocking is going to happen here tonight."

"You have to understand that my definition of shocking is different from yours," Matthew objected dryly as he looked about the pub.

The bartender had already poured out a considerable amount of stout, shots, and whiskey, and most of the men already had a glass of something in their hand. As nearly everyone encircled Tom, trying to hand him the first drink of the night or clapping him on the back, Damien hung back instead, guiding Matthew to a table.

"Remember, it's your responsibility to make sure Tom's doesn't drink so much he's still hammered by the wedding tomorrow morning," Damien told him seriously. "If you think his next drink is going to prevent him from walking upright on his own, slap him."

Matthew blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Damien broke out in a grin. "I'm just having you on, Matthew. But if the boys are getting him blind drunk, do whatever you can to stop him, even if it means punching him in the face."

"I think Sybil would be rather cross with me if I broke her soon-to-be husband's nose," Matthew argued.

"And she'll be even angrier if Tom's too inebriated to say his vows clearly," Damien claimed. "She wasn't too keen about having the stag night right before the wedding, but it's a tradition amongst Branson grooms."

"Is it really?" Matthew murmured absently.

Damien clapped him affirmatively on the shoulder. "Don't fret about it. All you have to do is keep an eye on him. And try to enjoy yourself a little bit. I'll get you a drink."

The heavy cigarette smoke in the air made the crowded bar hazy, and the commotion of voices (how could over a dozen men make so much noise?) was suddenly joined by a small band of fiddles, flutes, and bodhráin. Drinks sloshed over the rim of glasses as men clumsily navigated around the tables, though Damien was careful in not spilling any stout as he brought two glasses over to the table where Matthew was sitting. "Here you are," he said, putting one down in front of Matthew. "Finest dry stout in Dublin."

Matthew muttered a barely-audible thanks and took a tentative sip of the dark beer. It tasted dryer than the kind served at pubs in England, and while it wasn't a particularly bad taste, he still couldn't hide a grimace which Damien noticed.

"Not as fine as Lord Grantham's wines, huh?" he asked as he took a long swig of his own stout.

Matthew shrugged. "Still tastes better than his whiskey."

Damien nearly splattered his stout as he set the glass back down. "Is an English earl not able to afford good whiskey?" he laughed.

"Oh no, I'm sure he can," Matthew corrected, "he just chooses not to."

He watched as Tom took the shot that Kieran was offering him and swallowed it in one gulp. He made a mental note that this was the first drink of the night, out of (hopefully) not too many.

"And so it begins," Damien declared, bringing his own glass to his lips again.

The stag night already seemed to be in full swing, but up to half an hour after Tom had arrived more men came into the pub, until there were two dozen men with a drink in their hand. Damien introduced Matthew to a few of these men, some of them Tom's relatives as well, and while some eyebrows quirked dubiously at Matthew's upper-class accent, no one put up an argument when Damien referred to Matthew as Tom's 'friend.'

"That Tommy always been able to make friends in strange places," one slightly drunk attendee claimed. Not even Damien was certain what the man meant.

Matthew didn't join into the rowdiness; he was more than perfectly content to sit at his table and watch the fun while minding how many drinks Tom was downing. It was exciting to watch, he thought, not the least bit boring, but he'd never been much for 'lively' nights at pubs. Tom, meanwhile, seemed to be having the time of his life despite not going overboard with the alcohol, unlike some of the other men. There were plenty of puddles of liquid on the floor and tables and swear words being slurred loudly thanks to them. Matthew knew he wasn't ever going to reveal any details of this stag night to Lord Grantham, who'd only see it as justification to perpetuate Irish stereotypes.

Even as he kept an eye on Tom's drinking, he finished off his own stout and didn't refuse the next glass that was offered to him – even though he didn't check what the drink actually was before gulping it down. It gave his throat a burning tingle and made his head feel like he had just dunked it in water.

He looked at the glass, wondering vaguely if this had been one drink too many. Despite all the dinners he'd gone through at Downton where five wines were served on a normal night, he obviously wasn't aptly prepared to down as many drinks as anyone else here might be able to.

* * *

Close to midnight, Kieran climbed onto the bar counter and lifted up his whiskey glass. "I'd like to propose a toast to my dear brother Tommy, who, in spite of being the least handsome member in the entire Branson lineage—"

There were a few sniggers here and there, primarily from the Branson boys. "Shut up, Kieran," Tom groaned despite his grin.

"—managed to woo a pretty young girl and convince her to get married to him?" Kieran continued his half-drunken toast. "And not just any girl – an English lady of all people! How did he possibly do it?"

The party roared with laughter.

"And for those of you who are still wondering: yeah, little Tommy's still on our side," Kieran went on. "I'll admit, I wasn't keen on the idea of having an English lady in the family – was I going to have to bow to her every time she strutted into a room?"

Kieran made a mock bow, leaning too far and resulting in him nearly toppling over (thanks to the barman he avoided any facial contusions), and again nearly everyone howled with laughter.

"But I _will_ admit … I will honestly admit that Miss Sybil is rather intelligent and capable for someone of her upbringing. I hate saying it, but I'm really beginning to like her." He raised his glass. "So here's to you Tommy, finding the perfect girl for yourself."

Tom smiled as everyone in the bar simultaneously raised the glass in their hand (or both of them) and drank up. Matthew too joined into the toast, though he couldn't remember if the whisky he had picked up was actually his. It was an honest toast from one brother to another, meant to convey his acceptance of the bride, which to Tom must have been important. He would have married Sybil regardless of whether or not his family approved of her, but he was glad to hear his brother's support being voiced to his friends and relatives.

Kieran climbed off the bar counter with a bit of help, then sat down at the table where Damien and Matthew were. "How was that for a toast?" he smirked. "I know I forgot to add the part where I remind him if he treats her badly, I'll bash his head in."

"I don't think you'll need to remind him," Damien said. "He'd never do anything to hurt her, even if he was as drunk as Martin O'Sullivan got to be sometimes." He shuddered.

Matthew turned his head as he heard a shout coming from the other side of the pub. "Oi, Tom!" bellowed a red-faced man. "So does your English lady have any pretty sisters?"

"Very funny Chris," Tom shouted back. "You know they wouldn't be interested in the likes of you."

"Oh really?" Chris sloshed his beer as he staggered over to Tom. "If you could make an impression on one of them, why can't I?"

Tom could tell that his old schoolmate had enough drink in him to cause him to make trouble, verbally and physically. "C'mon Chris, you know you wouldn't like them, they aren't your type." He lunged for the glass in Chris's hand. "Right, that's enough for you."

"But if they were pretty—!" Chris stumbled backwards to keep Tom from swiping his half-full beer glass. He turned around and gave Matthew a hard nudge on the arm. "Hey, you know them. Are they pretty?"

Matthew gulped. "Er … they're quite lovely, I think." He didn't know if he should really be answering and encouraging this man, but the words were tumbling out of his mouth before he knew what he was even saying. "One of them's actually rather beautiful."

"Beautiful, eh? Well, in that case—" But Chris's unruliness was cut short as the barman came up behind him and drenched him with an entire bucket of cold water. Droplets splattered on everyone who was unlucky enough to be nearby. Nearly everyone stopped talking and drinking to look at the scene.

"Right Chris, you can leave now," the barman said, leaving no room for argument. He pointed to the door. "Go home before you pass out."

Chris stood dumbly for a moment, drenched from head to toe. Then he glanced quickly at Tom in a silent apology before shuffling out the door. The silence in the pub was broken by the slam of the door, and the remainder of the guests resumed their fun.

Kieran shook his head. "Poor Chris. Never did figure out his limit."

Tom wiped a few stray water droplets off his cheek. "You alright, Matthew?"

Matthew wondered if he looked a bit unnerved by Chris's display. "Yeah, I'm … fine," he said, clearing his throat. He couldn't conceal the slight slur to his words. "You … you still seem clear-headed."

Tom shrugged. "I don't think I'll have anything else, though." He rubbed his head as if it were aching as he sat down next to Kieran. "Just being careful."

Kieran gave him a disapproving look. "You aren't serious, are you?"

Tom was about to affirm that, yes, he was serious, when—

"Is Lady Mary very beautiful?" Damien asked.

Matthew hesitated, at first thinking it was the alcohol talking. "Sorry?"

"You said one of Sybil's sisters is 'rather beautiful,'" Damien said. "I assumed you were talking about Mary."

"Well, yes … she is," Matthew said. _Mary_ , he thought, _I wonder what she's doing now_.

"What is she like?"

Kieran scoffed. "Jesus, Damien, what are you asking for? You met her, or have you already forgotten that?"

"I know I did, but I'm asking what she's _really_ like," Damien retorted.

Tom gave his cousin a wary look. Why was Damien asking about Mary, and specifically to Matthew? He should know better than to linger on Chris's inebriated goading, seeing as it had made Matthew noticeably uncomfortable. Damien was a curious man, but he wasn't an idiot, and he knew when to leave something alone. So what was he trying to …

It hit Tom like a ton of bricks. He remembered how they had discussed Mary's first broken engagement with Matthew, how Damien had inquired Sybil about that – and he had obviously been unconvinced that Mary and Matthew had put those past romantic thoughts behind them. Now he was directly asking Matthew about Mary (while the man was drunk no less).

 _Damien, you clever bastard_ , Tom thought.

The rational part of him would have stopped Damien from taking the matter any further, but he had left that part of him back at the house. He was eager to figure out what he himself had suspected for a long time, all throughout the war, and even wondered briefly during the tea – could it be that Mary and Matthew were still in love?

Matthew, however, hadn't caught onto what Damien was up to. "What … what is it you want to know?"

"Anything," Damien said innocently.

Kieran groaned. "Christ, what is this all about?" He eyed Damien sceptically. "What's this interest in Lady Mary? Are _you_ planning to fall for an English lady next? I didn't think you were into the cold, haughty sort."

"She's not cold," Matthew broke in. "Not all the time, actually."

"Oh?" Kieran lifted an eyebrow. "So what is she?"

Matthew sighed, trying to sort out all the crazy thoughts coursing through his mind at the moment. "I mean, she can be cold and haughty, but that's when she doesn't know you – or doesn't like you, I suppose."

"I didn't think she was that cold when we met her," Damien noted. He added deliberately, "I wonder why that was."

"I honestly don't know either," Matthew said, completely oblivious to the true reason. Tom would've liked to smack him and tell him, _It was because she was with you, you idiot_. "She was so … unfeeling … when I first met her. I thought she had no heart at all. Though I think I personally caused her to really dislike me."

He laughed shakily, and Tom guessed that he was remembering the extremely awkward day he met Mary. He didn't know the details, but he figured it was excruciating to recall because Matthew had a very pained look on his face.

"So how did you end up getting engaged if you hated each other?" Kieran laughed, sounding unconvinced that that had actually happened.

"We didn't _hate_ each other," Matthew objected. "Well … Mary didn't like that I was there at Downton, and I frankly wasn't keen on that whole arrangement either, but there wasn't anything we could do about it. So I suppose we just got used to each other. And then … I can't say for sure how it happened, but somehow we became friends, and—"

"You fell in love," Damien finished.

Matthew nodded. "I wasn't sure how she felt about me until one night … when we were alone—"

Everyone except Tom began suggestively oohing. Matthew's flushed face became even redder. "No – it was like _that_ – we were in the dining room." He looked to Tom for help. "It was the night after you took Sybil to the count in Ripon, remember?"

"How could I forget _that_?" Tom cringed. "I thought Lord Grantham was going to have my head."

"What made you realise she was in love with you?" Damien.

Matthew looked uncertain, as if he didn't really know the answer himself. "She didn't say it exactly, but she implied that she had … a crush on me … which I accused her of not having."

"Then what?" Damien asked eagerly.

"Then I asked her to marry me," Matthew answered.

Kieran coughed. "What, just like that?"

Matthew nodded abashedly. "It seemed … it seemed like the only thing left to do. I didn't expect her to answer me right away, so I let her think about her it, just to be sure it was what she wanted. And she promised to me that after Sybil had her season that she'd give me an answer."

Damien remembered how, in the car leaving the tea at the Shelbourne, Sybil explained that Mary hadn't even given an answer in the end. "Were you certain she'd accept?"

"I was … at least, I wanted to be," Matthew said. "I always thought she'd seek out a duke or a marquess to marry instead of _me_. But she didn't give any hint towards saying no until … she started to waver when it seemed that my prospects were changing, that maybe I wouldn't inherit Downton after all."

"So she thought it wasn't worth it if you didn't inherit her house," Kieran sniffed. "They want only the best, those toffs."

Matthew stiffened at Kieran's bitter tone. "Don't speak against her, she – she listened to the wrong people. I know that she didn't mean to put me off, but I couldn't see it then." He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, and Tom entertained the notion of getting him another drink. "I thought that she was going to refuse me because of who – what I was – and I just couldn't stand the thought that she'd only accept me because of a title and some money."

"But was that the truth?" asked Damien.

"I don't know – I didn't know for certain then," Matthew said weakly. "I only believed that her feelings … they weren't real or … weren't as strong as I had thought."

The man was still heartbroken over that, Tom realised. He tried to imagine being in his shoes then: what if he believed that Sybil loved him enough to marry him, no matter what, then discovering her feelings might have conditions? That wasn't true for him of course, but he was aware of what had compelled Matthew to withdraw his proposal. It hadn't been anger at Mary for hesitation, or at least that wasn't everything. It had been his own heart breaking at the thought that the woman he loved didn't return his feelings and had disillusioned him.

"So I thought it would be best for the both of us if I left to go back to Manchester," Matthew admitted ruefully. "Then, as it happened, war was announced, and I joined the army. I met someone new, and so did she, so that's all behind us now."

To him, that seemed to conclude the story about him and Mary. He appeared exhausted just from telling the story, and looked over to where the rest of the men were playing some sort of drinking game. One of them motioned to Tom to join them, but Tom waved him off.

"Go on Tommy, it's your own stag night," Kieran prodded. "I think your liver can take a few more."

"I think I'm a better judge of my liver than you are," Tom returned. He added in a whisper, "Besides, I've still got things to sort out with this idiot."

"What things?" Kieran frowned. "Is this suddenly an interrogation?"

When Tom didn't say anything, he looked to Damien who had a mischievous smirk on his face. "Good God," he muttered. "Do you honestly think—?"

"I do indeed," Damien replied.

Matthew evidently hadn't noticed them talking, his eyes still fixated on whatever the rest of the stag night attendees were up to, and he jolted when Damien prodded him in the arm. "You're still friends with Mary though, aren't you?"

"Yes. We made up," Matthew explained. He smiled to himself as he went on. "You know, she was so welcoming to Lavinia when I introduced her to the family at Downton. Not that I thought she'd be rude or – well, it was two years since _we_ were – no, I was just glad that she wasn't still upset over what had happened."

Tom knew Lady Mary well enough to know that she was exceptionally good at hiding her emotions. If she didn't want to appear outwardly upset to Matthew, she could manage it with a smile and a cheerful reassurance.

"Do _you_ regret it, though?" Damien asked softly. He knew he was wandering into some touch-and-go territory, even with Matthew only half-aware that he was spilling his story to a couple of strange men. If he realised he was speaking about matters of the heart, chances were he'd promptly shut up and never say what needed to be heard.

"Do I re – what do you mean?" Matthew, face reddening, looked at everyone else around the table to verify what he might have heard.

"What do you think, you idiot?" Kieran snapped. "Do you regret ending things between you and Lady Mary?"

Matthew paused, jaw slack, before stuttering, "I – did I – it was for the best – but … " He let out a long sigh of exasperation, one so loud that some of the men playing the drinking game turned towards him. "What does it matter now? We've both moved on, we found other people—"

"And both of your most recent engagements have been broken off, so we've been told," Kieran cut him off. His index finger rang along the rim of his whiskey glass as he contemplated another drink. "I hope that one didn't end same as the last one."

Underneath the table, Tom kicked his brother in the shins. Even so, Kieran's remark hadn't escaped Matthew's awareness. " _That_ one wasn't me – it was Lavinia who ended it."

He went still suddenly, his flushed face paling for a moment. Something that resembled an unpleasant realisation flickered in his eyes. "But then again … I suppose that it was partly my fault."

Damien's eyes widened. "What do you mean by that?"

Matthew leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. He couldn't see straight, he realised, and he probably wasn't thinking straight either. "Lavinia left because she was convinced that … Mary and I were still in love."

Everyone else froze. Tom heard Kieran mutter, "Fecking hell."

"Oh, now you're interested?" he teased, and was met with Kieran's objecting sneer.

Damien was just as surprised as the rest of the Branson boys, but secretly excited as well. "She thought you were still in love with Mary?"

Matthew nodded. "She said so herself, when she was ill, and right before she left. She really seemed to believe it."

Kieran snorted out of bafflement. "How'd she come to that, I wonder?"

At first, Matthew made to appear as if he would shrug the comment off, act convinced that Lavinia's illness had made her muddled, say that he didn't have any idea to what she was talking about at all. But he didn't say anything for a few minutes, his mind trying to sort through his befuddled thoughts.

For a man who'd had too much to drink, Tom thought, he was still remarkably conscious of his own thoughts. Would he remember anything he was saying tomorrow?

Matthew stayed quiet for a while, eyes blinking sleepily, and Tom wondered if he had given up on saying anything more. Damien, however, continued looking at him, patiently waiting for an answer. A few men abandoned the drinking game and drew up chairs around Tom, clapping him on the back and teasing him gently about his days as a husband. Tom didn't take any of their 'advice' to heart, replying that he wouldn't regret marrying Sybil for one single day.

When Matthew spoke again, his voice was hoarse and quiet, but whatever conversation was happening around the table stopped suddenly. Matthew didn't seem to be talking to anyone in particular, but rather to himself.

"During the war, I was injured, badly. Mary took care of me when I was brought home. She … she hardly ever left my side while I was in the hospital. She was always close by, or so it felt. Even when I must've looked a bloody hideous sight … I don't think anything could've persuaded her to leave me."

"What's this all about?" someone asked Damien, who promptly shushed him up.

"By the time I was moved into the convalescent home at Downton, I wondered what I would do without her," Matthew continued, still speaking to his own hazy self. "But even then she didn't leave me alone. She was like a nurse – no, more of a companion to me."

Tom smiled at the memories of seeing Mary wheel Matthew around the estate grounds, often stopping to sit at their own private bench far away from the rest of the convalescing officers. Sybil once relayed to him that she rarely saw Matthew without Mary during that time, and when they were together it was when he seemed most like himself; when she wasn't with him, he was sullen and quiet. It was like Mary gave him life, like she was his reason to wake up in the morning despite knowing he wasn't much better than an invalid.

"If I was to be wheelchair-bound forever, I would've wanted Mary to stay with me always. It sounds selfish now, since she was still going to marry that … that sir or whatever he was … but I would never force her to stay with _me,_ even if she weren't engaged to be married _._ How could she have a real life when she was acting as my personal nurse?" Matthew sighed, brushing away a limp strand of hair away from his eyes. "So I acted like I supported her engagement, even though she sometimes said to me she didn't have to marry him."

"Where was your fiancée in all of this?" Kieran questioned. "Sounds like a recipe for jealousy if you ask me."

"Lavinia's not a jealous person," Matthew insisted. "And she didn't see us together, because … when they thought I couldn't … have children … I sent her away. I couldn't be responsible for depriving her of the life she wanted, a proper life as a wife and a mother. But even so, I think she figured out who had taken care of me while she was gone. And she wasn't bitter about it, but … that may have been when she started to suspect."

Those who had just come around the table looked at Matthew curiously, but they didn't raise any questions about what was going on. Enough of them recognized when a drunk man was spilling his secrets, and all they were interested in was the end. No one made a sound save for Kieran, who rolled his eyes and groaned.

"You know what your problem is? You're too noble for your own good. You keep sacrificing your own happiness just so you don't feel like anyone's burden."

Matthew looked at Kieran, speechless, so Kieran went on. "If either of those women wanted nothing more to do with their lives than to take care for you, would you have refused them anyway?"

With a nervous laugh, Matthew replied, "But why would they want to do that—?"

"Jesus, I thought you just told us how Mary barely left your side?" Kieran snapped. "I'm sure she'd rather have been taking tea in some fancy garden or riding horses or even spending time with her own fiancé. But no, she spent her time keeping your sorry arse company."

"And she seemed quite glad to do it," Tom added.

Matthew brushed away more strands of hair that were sticking to his flushed forehead. "But that doesn't matter now anyway – Lavinia came back, I was able to walk again, and Mary kept her plans to marry."

"But that's not the case anymore – except for the walking bit," Kieran said.

"Did Lavinia have any other reason to suspect you were still in love with each other?" Damien asked. "She couldn't have left just because Mary took care of you while she was gone."

"No, there wasn't—," Matthew started to say, but cut himself off. "Yes. She saw something else. There was one night, just before our wedding. Lavinia was feeling ill, so she was resting in Mary's bedroom, and Mary and I were downstairs together." His eyes grew glassy, as if the scene was unfolding before him. Everyone else's were fixated on him. The pub was nearly silent. "There was a record … on the phonograph … and were were alone. She was standing there, and then we … we started dancing then. God, it felt so right, having her in my arms!" His smile was sad. "It didn't feel wrong having her in my arms, being so close to her. It felt like we were the only two people in the world.

"We started talking … about us, and I realised how much I hated myself for ending things between us. It still hurt to talk about that, even after so many years. Then I told her … her grandmother had come to see me, after they knew I'd walk again, and said that I should go back to Mary. For a moment, I – I actually considered her advice seriously, but I couldn't brush Lavinia off. She had been ready to give up her future when I couldn't walk – how could I push her away?

"But dancing with Mary … I realised that I _wanted_ to be with her. And I told her … well, I didn't say it exactly … but I wanted her to know that, at least some part of me did want to let Lavinia go, just so that we _could_ …"

He broke off, suddenly coming out of his reverie as his eyes darted around the table, seeing everyone staring at him. He appeared dazed, like he had forgotten what he was doing, but luckily that wasn't the case.

"But Lavinia saw us … together. And while she was ill, she told me she wouldn't be the one to … to keep us apart. She had seen _everything_." The look of guilt on Matthew's face was undeniable. "She thought it would be better for the both of us."

"And that's why she left," Damien discerned. Matthew nodded.

"She sounds like the more sensible one," Kieran muttered.

Matthew looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

Kieran moaned. "Jesus Christ, if you couldn't see it when you were sober, I don't see how I can explain it to you while you're drunk!"

"I know what Lavinia meant!" Matthew cried, quickly jolting back to life. "I understand why she left. But whatever she wanted for me – for us – I can't do it!"

"Why not?" Kieran said harshly. "I doubt it was easy for Lavinia to do it, but she did it for your own good."

"My own good?" Matthew repeated. "She left because I broke her heart."

"Maybe, but she knew better than to be responsible for keeping you and Mary apart."

One man slapped Kieran heartily on the shoulder. "You acting as matchmaker now, Branson?"

To everyone's surprise, Kieran didn't object. "I have to be, since this man isn't seeing the obvious."

"There isn't anything to—" Matthew refuted.

"Matthew, I think there is something you need to say," Damien said, "and it is rather obvious."

Matthew's ragged sigh, along with his sullen glare, made Tom wonder if he was going to reach for someone else's drink to knock him out so he could avoid saying anything more. It didn't seem like his resentment was directed towards anyone else, since he was looking down at his own hands, but rather directed towards _himself_. Resentment for being too much of a coward to admit the truth even to himself. Embarrassment for not seeing what everyone else around him could see. Regret for the choices he had made in the past.

"Alright then," he said, barely above a whisper. "Fine, I'll bloody say it: I love her. I love Mary. I don't think I've ever stopped loving her. Even after I left her, even when I was going to marry Lavinia … it was always her."

Tom could practically see the heavy weight of that confession being lifted off of Matthew's chest. Had it really taken this long for him to admit it? A night of drinking and the persuasion of his brother and cousin was what was needed for him to say it? Well, he had said it finally, and there was no way he was going to forget it by tomorrow morning.

Damien had a satisfied smile on his face. "Now there's only thing left for you to do, Matthew. I hope you know what it is."

Matthew took a moment to think, and then adamantly shook his head. "No, I won't – not again."

"Why the hell not?" Tom demanded. It was all very good for Matthew to admit that he was still in love with Mary, but to not act upon his feelings when they had been apart for long was foolish on a monumental scale. Tom himself had held back on confessing his true feelings to Sybil for a long enough time, and often he'd wished he'd done so sooner.

"Oh Tom, you know she'd never accept," Matthew sighed. "I let her down once, and she _knows_ that Lavinia left because of the two of us. Do you think she'd have me after all that?"

"So you're going to do nothing now, are you?" Kieran scoffed angrily. "What's the use of loving her if you're not going to ask her to marry you?"

It was clear to everyone, however, that Matthew was afraid – afraid that Mary did not return his feelings. Maybe there was no way to know for certain if Mary still loved Matthew, but if the suspicions of everyone who had seen them together had any truth, then he shouldn't have been so worried that she'd reject him without a second thought.

"Matthew," Tom said, hoping the man would fully comprehend what he was saying. "I know it's not exactly proper for me to say so, but you and Mary are meant to be together. I've known that for as long as I was at the house. The boys know it, and they met you only a few days ago!"

Everyone laughed, and thankfully Matthew did as well, just a little.

"But," he said as his smile faded, "what if she says no? I'm sure she will. I'll have made myself look like a damn fool for nothing."

Damien reached out and gripped his shoulder. "Look at me, Matthew. Listen to me carefully, 'cause you're going to have to remember this for when you're sober."

When Matthew's eyes met his, Damien went on. "I realise you think that Mary won't come back to you, because of all you said you've been through, and you know her better now than I ever will. But you can't assume she'll say no without going up to her and asking her – you gotta buck up and propose, or you'll spend the rest of your life wondering if she really was going to say no when she could have damn well said yes."

Damien could see that Matthew was taking his words to heart; the hopelessness and resignation that was in his eyes before was slowly fading.

"And you need to ask sooner than later, or else some other bloke will come around and ask her, and she might accept _him_ just because _you_ didn't ask at all. I've figured you're the type of man to wait until things are certain, so you don't act until you don't have any more doubts. But you can't wait forever, because Mary certainly won't."

The idea that yet another man could ask for Mary's hand in marriage, and even worse, her accepting, seemed to get under Matthew's skin. He knew that could easily happen – Mary was still young and marriageable, and she'd always be beautiful, so what man would think to decline her? He realised that, if he didn't take this opportunity while it lasted, he'd never have another chance. He let her go once – he'd never forgive himself if he lost her again.

 _God, Mary_ , he thought, _I'm so sorry_.

"I think … I might do it—" he stuttered faintly.

He yelped as various men slapped him on the shoulder in rapid succession: apparently they had taken that as a definite, "Yes, I will ask her to marry me." Cheering and noisy words of encouragement were thrown at him, making his ears ring. Damien, Kieran, and Tom were all smiling broadly and applauding as well, their duty fulfilled.

Matthew supposed there was no argument to make now: he had made up his mind to soon propose to Mary, to make it known to her that he'd never stopped loving her. When that would be, he still didn't know – perhaps when they returned to Downton – but he _would_ do it.

And it wasn't the alcohol deciding for him, he knew. Or at least not entirely.

"Grand, that's done now," Kieran said. "But it's up to you to actually propose. If you don't propose within a month, I'm going over there myself and asking _for_ you. I don't give a shit if it kills me to set foot in England."

"It probably will," someone remarked.

Tom gripped Matthew's hand. "It'll be alright. I _know_ she'll say yes. And either way, she will know that you've always loved her."

Matthew smiled gratefully. "Tell me, and be honest – do you think I'll be fine in time for the wedding? I mean, _your_ wedding," he stuttered.

"Nothing a bit of strong black coffee tomorrow morning can't cure," Tom judged. "And as long as no one forces anything else into me, I'll be fine too."

But clearly Kieran had other plans as he stood up on his chair and called out for _deoch an doris_ , the last drinks of the night. "And Tommy, don't you dare refuse!"

"Jesus," Tom muttered.

Kieran jumped down to collect the glasses that the exhausted barman was filling up. Damien got up and helped him pass them around, making sure Matthew didn't accidentally get his hands around one.

"Right, so when'd you decide to start poking around other people's love lives?" Kieran asked Damien. "Do you think of yourself as a regular cupid?"

"You can call me a romantic all you want, Kieran," Damien replied. "But you could see it for yourself too. Don't you think even the English deserve love?"

Kieran rolled his eyes. "Maybe, but this doesn't mean _I_ love them any more."

That made Damien chuckle. "No one could ever accuse you of that!"

Kieran huffed as he took a swig of stout. "Well, let's just hope he remembers what he's promised tomorrow." He turned around to the table to put another set of drinks down. "But I don't think our work tonight is completely finished."

Damien was about to ask what he meant, but he saw Matthew slumped in his seat, eyes closed and snoring quietly. He knew he was going to be one of the unlucky fellows who were going to return to the Shelbourne carrying the unconscious Matthew back up to his room.

"Christ," he muttered towards Matthew. "You'd better hope Mary doesn't see us."


	4. Late Night Tea

_I know a lot of you have been waiting for the wedding/possible proposal, but we've still got Mary's feelings to sort out, so one more chapter before the wedding! I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for all the reviews._

* * *

Chapter Four – Late Night Tea

In contrast to Tom's stag night, Sybil's last night as an unmarried woman was far less boisterous, though to her it was no less enjoyable. It was an evening spent at Mrs Branson's home, surrounded by some of Tom's female relations as well as her sisters, sipping tea and hot cocoa in the cozy sitting room. The women presented small wedding gifts to Sybil, most homemade, and offered her what advice they could about love, marriage, motherhood.

For Mary and Edith, it was interesting to hear how a mother cared for her children without a nurse or governess: except for the fact that their mother spent more time with them than was expected of her, they were raised much as their father and aunt were, in the care of hired women, moulded into being proper ladies of society. To hear about the intimacies of a mother bringing up her children in a normal household made them wonder if Sybil was planning to get a wink of sleep after she was married, what with her job as a nurse as well. When Edith voiced her concerns about this, the other women were quick to explain that Sybil would not be entirely on her own. A young mother was always supported by other women in caring for her children.

"And I've offered to come and help her during the day," Nuala said. "I have a very young little sister, so I know how tiring caring for them can be."

Sybil smiled. "And _I've_ told her that she needn't come every single day. If I don't do it all for myself I won't learn as quickly."

"Nonsense, you'll learn fast enough anyways," Mrs Branson chided gently.

Considering that Tom wasn't present, Sybil was able to show off her wedding dress to her sisters. It was a lilac garment that went down to her ankles, overlaid with white lace. It was not a new dress, but rather one she was borrowing from another one of Tom's cousins. The hat was hers, however, one of the few pieces she brought from Downton, though now it had a short white veil attached at the back. While it was never the grand, expensive ensemble that they once envisioned Sybil would marry in, Mary and Edith had to concede that this suited Sybil's more simplistic style, and she would not look any less like a bride when she wore it tomorrow.

"You'll look so lovely," Mary told Sybil.

Sybil smiled. "Thank you, Mary. I wasn't sure if you'd approve of it all, since it's not a 'proper' wedding gown."

"Don't be silly, it fits you perfectly," Mary said. "And anyhow, you do have a veil at least."

Sybil glanced gratefully at her soon-to-be mother-in-law. "Mrs Branson stitched it on for me. She was the one who insisted I have it on."

Seeing all the women gathered here in Mrs Branson's sitting room, Mary realized that Sybil had not thrown herself into a world where she was on her own. She had found her own family in Dublin and made new friends who looked out for her. Mary had always known Sybil was strong on her own, but she had been worried when she left Downton for a completely different life, one in which people might judge her or abandon her to her wits. That wasn't the case, though, with Mrs Branson allowing her to live here until she was married, and Nuala who had unshakeably taken her under her wing. Sybil had found her place, she was right where she belonged.

When the clock chimed midnight, Mrs Branson casually suggested that Sybil ought to get her rest for her big day, and so the other women kindly bid her good night before filing out of the house. The only ones who remained in the house were Mary, Edith, and Nuala, with Sybil trudging tiredly upstairs with Mrs Branson. Edith had fallen asleep half an hour earlier on the couch, so Nuala and Mary took it upon themselves to collect the tea cups and plates and put them in the kitchen sink.

"I'll drive you back to the hotel once we're done here," Nuala said as she pushed the dishes into the sink. She ran the tap and began washing the dregs out of the tea cups.

"May I help with that?" Mary asked tentatively. She felt rather awkward at standing idly by while Nuala did all the work.

Nuala looked surprised that Mary had offered to help, but she was appreciative. "I'll give you the dishes to dry," she directed. "Use that cloth there. And just stack them on the counter."

So Nuala washed the cups and dessert plates, none of which were particularly dirty, and Mary rubbed them dry with the cloth. Mary meticulous wiped each piece so that no moisture could have remained, even pushing the cloth through the handles of the tea cups. Nuala watched her, wondering how many dishes Mary had washed in her entire lifetime.

"You don't have to get every inch of them dry," she giggled. "Just make sure they aren't so wet that they'll slip out of your hand."

Mary paused in the middle of wiping a tea cup. "I'm sorry. I've ... never really seen how people clean dishes. And when I volunteered at the hospital – during the war, for a while – I had to make sure all the instruments and basins and such were spotless, or else there'd be risk of infection. That's the only experience I've had with this sort of chore."

Nuala's curiousity was piqued. "You worked at a hospital?"

"Just at the cottage hospital. There were a lot of soldiers brought there during the war," Mary said. "I wasn't a real nurse, I just sort of helped out where I was needed."

"Why did you decide to volunteer?" Nuala asked. "I've heard stories from Sybil about the hospital during the war, about all the horrible injuries some of those men had. It always sounded rather dreadful to me."

"It _was_ dreadful, and for a long time I didn't want to go anywhere near it," Mary admitted. "Downton was made into a convalescent home, and the officers there would still have bandages around their heads, or their eyes, and where their hands used to be. I helped out there, but I didn't want to work at the hospital."

"What made you change your mind?"

Mary shrugged. "Matthew was injured and brought to the hospital, but his mother had gone away to God-knows-where, so I thought I might take it upon myself to … keep an eye on him."

Nuala smiled, fully understanding what Mary truly intended. "That was very kind of you."

"I couldn't let Sybil have all the glory," Mary said, dismissing any notion that she had volunteered to be kind. Nuala didn't tease her or press her to admit that she _had_ , because she knew anyway.

The dishes were soon stacked neatly on the counter, thoroughly cleaned, but even so Nuala offered Mary one last cup of tea. "We've still got some time before we need to return to the hotel," she said, already reheating the kettle. "And Edith's not going anywhere." She and Mary both looked over to where Edith was slumped on the couch in the darkened sitting room, sound asleep.

"Alright then," Mary agreed. "Just one more cup of tea."

She hadn't had much to eat this evening, as a matter of fact – she was simply too preoccupied with thoughts of the wedding tomorrow (or today, since it was past midnight by now). It wasn't even _her_ own wedding, and yet she was nervous. Sybil hadn't looked an ounce nervous, all smiles and blushing, not a single hesitation or regret.

The tea didn't take long to prepare, and presently both Mary and Nuala were seated at the kitchen table with cups in front of them. Mary wondered how many evenings Sybil had spent this way: a cup of hot tea in hand with Nuala sitting across from her.

"I don't think Mrs Branson will come back downstairs," Nuala said. "She'll have made sure Sybil went straight to bed, and then she'll have gone to bed herself. It's been a busy few days for her."

Mary nodded. "I'm sure it's been hectic for all of you."

"But it will all be worth it tomorrow," Nuala continued, grinning at the thought of the wedding that would happen in a matter of hours. "To finally see Tom and Sybil properly married and happy together. I remember the day that Damien read one of the letters Tom wrote him while he was still in England, and he nearly tumbled down the stairs crying out, 'Tommy's got a sweetheart!'"

Both Nuala and Mary laughed, as softly as they could to avoid waking Sybil or Mrs Branson. "Is that what Tom called Sybil, his sweetheart?" Mary asked.

"Well, that's what Damien called her at first. As a way to tease Tom, most likely. But that was only before Tom managed to let it slip that his 'sweetheart' was the daughter of the earl he was driving about."

Edith stirred on the couch, head scratching against the upholstery. "I hope she doesn't wake up on account of us talking," Mary said. "I don't want to deal with her being cranky if she does."

Nuala decided to wait a moment befor asking "I was just wondering, what with all this talk of weddings and love … does Edith have a sweetheart of her own?"

Mary nearly laughed, but she stopped herself, knowing that she'd come across as rude. "Not for a long time, no. She's not very lucky in that sort of thing, unfortunately."

Nuala understood what Mary meant and glanced over to where Edith was still sound asleep. "Poor girl," she murmured. "Perhaps the right man just hasn't come 'round yet."

"I sometimes wonder if he's actually out there," Mary said, before she could check her own words.

Nuala's normally kind eyes were suddenly shooting a warning at Mary. She clearly wasn't one to tolerate anything worse than harmless teasing, which Mary's comment certainly wasn't. "You mean that so many died in the war, the one for her could have been one of them," she said coolly.

Mary nodded. "That's right."

That was enough to abate Nuala's sternness, thankfully. "And you? Do you have someone special?"

Mary must have looked a bit shocked that Nuala had asked her that, because Nuala, although she was laughing slightly, said, "I'm sorry. We're more open about that sort of thing here."

"There's no need to apologize," Mary assured. "But no, there isn't anybody who I'm sweet on. In fact, I just called off an engagement."

Nuala gasped. "Oh God. Sybil told me about that," she said quickly. "I should've remembered. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be – it's not actually a big loss for me," Mary said. She took a sip of the still-hot tea. "It was for the best … I think."

Nuala furrowed her brow as she decided to ask, "Was it not a good match?"

"Not particularly," Mary answered, still holding her cup in the air. "Well, not in terms of love or even companionship. There wasn't much of either of that."

"Then why did you want to marry him?" Nuala inquired.

Mary sighed. "Well, he was quite handsome, and rich too – I wasn't put off by the fact that he was 'new money.' Marrying for money isn't as uncommon as you might want to believe. And I didn't care that he had a proper title or anything; he was still quite respected and well-known."

Nuala appeared confused. "Was that it? Surely you must have held some affection for him."

Not even Mary was certain that she _ever_ held any degree of affection for Sir Richard Carlisle. "In the beginning I admired him – but not all that much. Truth be told, I suppose I was just attracted to him because of everything _but_ love."

"Sounds like it would have been an unhappy marriage if it was without love," Nuala said.

"Love doesn't always matter for us – people like me, I mean. If an unhappy marriage means being comfortable, well-off, and with a title of some sort, most people would be quite content."

From the look on Nuala's face, she didn't entirely believe that people could actually be fine not marrying for love. "And you thought you'd be alright marrying a rich man, even though you didn't love him," she presumed.

The way she put it, Mary thought, it sounded like an absurd plan now. It was a common thing to do for people like her – not normal, and often frowned-upon – but marrying 'new money' had always been a characteristic of her class. If love was meant to be, it would usually come later, much like how her own parents did not fall in love until months after their wedding. Mary often hoped she'd be as lucky as they were, though the problem with Sir Richard was that she couldn't see that happening as time went on.

"Yes, well, I'm not marrying him now, so it doesn't really matter anymore," Mary declared, taking another sip of tea to hide the sudden hoarseness in her throat. She wasn't sure if she was prepared to give the real reason for why she had ended things with Carlisle.

"It must have been tough on you anyhow," Nuala said.

Mary snorted. "It was tougher being engaged to him."

Countless times, Carlisle had reminded her of what he could do – what he _would_ do – if she ended their engagement. More often than not they disputed over where they would live when they were married, when and where the wedding would take place, if Mary's preoccupation with 'other matters' would distract and distance her from him. All the quarrels and threats of the consequences had only left Mary even more uncertain of her decision as time went by, though more anxious of what Carlisle would do to her reputation if she left him.

"But then again," she began to concede, "sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision at all. It was a big risk for me to leave him."

"Why's that? Did he threaten to hurt you if he left you?" Nuala looked quite worried for Mary, and suddenly Mary felt herself putting more trust into her sister's friend than she ever thought she would.

"Not in the physical sense, no," Mary murmured. "But he has the power to ruin me socially. He's a newspaper man, so he has that sort of influence."

"So he would publish lies about you if you left him?" Nuala muttered, eyes wide with alarm. She shook her head. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph. How could any man think that fair?"

Mary didn't answer her immediately, and she couldn't lift her eyes from her cup. Over and over again she told herself she was the one to blame, that Carlisle's point to her was unequivocal – if she hadn't made such a stupid mistake, she wouldn't need to take such drastic measures just to keep her reputation. Had she only be a little bit more cautious, she wouldn't have had to beg for his help and keep herself trapped with him just to protect herself from the world's scorn.

"He wouldn't have spread lies," she said quietly. "He would have published a repulsive truth about me. And I stayed with him only to keep it from getting out. That was the only reason I stayed with him, and I stayed with him as long as I could bear it."

She didn't want to see Nuala looking at her with such pity, so she kept her eyes down. "And since I _did_ leave him … he might decide one day to publish it. Perhaps I'll find myself a laughing stock that no one would even think to marry."

Silent tears were rolling down her cheeks, which she hadn't noticed before. She rubbed her face, but Nuala got up and fetched a clean cloth for her to dry her eyes with. Mary nodded her thanks as she gripped the cloth tightly in her fists. At first, it was so embarassing for her to be crying in front of someone who wasn't part of her family, but when Nuala sat down in the chair next to her to affectionately rub her shoulders, she felt safer.

"Oh God, I'm such a fool," she gasped. "He probably decided to publish already. Maybe everyone has already read about it, and they'll think me so revolting they won't let me back into the country!"

"Mary, you're not a fool," Nuala assured her, "but you're silly to think they won't let you go back home."

"Am I?" Mary said as she dabbed her eyes some more. "They won't see me as much better than a whore."

"Don't say that," scolded Nuala. "If it helps to say it, _I_ think you're a brave woman. You left that man in spite of his threats, in spite of knowing what he might do to you. And you're free now to find someone you truly love, someone who won't force you to stay with him."

Mary hiccupped faintly. Tears were still stinging in her eyes. "I'm afraid that might be out of the question."

"What do you mean?"

"The secret was … it was something intimate in nature," Mary forced out, trying not to feel even more ridiculous. She hoped Nuala would catch on to what it was so she wouldn't have to spell it out completely. "And I think if I were to marry again … I'd have to tell them. If they found out otherwise … it's just something I know I can't hide forever." She hiccuped again. "Not that I imagine I'll have to tell anybody personally after all this. I doubt anybody would want to marry me."

Nuala was silent as Mary calmed herself down from her self-loathing. That was an even worse fear than learning Carlisle had decided to publish her horrifying secret after all: realizing that no one would want to marry her with such a despicable past hanging over her. That was partially what stalled her when Matthew had proposed to her – what if _he_ thought her a slut for exotic men? She knew Matthew wasn't highly judgmental, but it might not be possible for even him to stomach such a repugnant revelation might. She had always been determined not to be an old maid, but sooner or later she might have to resign herself to that fate.

"Mary … " Nuala said with the deepest caring and tenderness, and Mary finally forced herself to look at her. "I'm going to tell you something that may make you feel a bit less alone."

"Go on," Mary said.

Nuala inhaled deeply. "It's about something that no one outside the family knows – except for Sybil, of course. I have a little sister, who's five years old … only she isn't my sister. She's my daughter."

Mary didn't have much of an outward reaction, but she felt the shock of the shock of the disclosure internally. Nuala was a mother? Mary knew she was around the same age as Sybil, and to have a five-year-old child … how young she must have been when it all happened! Had that occurred to her after her liason with Kemal Pamuk, Mary would have never been able to show her face again in public, let alone have hopes of marrying.

Nuala must have sensed Mary's shock somehow. "I know it must seem rather vulgar to someone like you—"

"It's not—!" Mary interuppted suddenly. "I mean, it's not vulgar; just surprising, that's all."

"It's because I'm still so young, isn't it?" Nuala guessed. "I was fifteen, in case you were wondering. The man I did it with never came back to me, so I couldn't protect myself with marriage. We managed to keep it secret because Mam and I went up to her sister's farm, and we stayed there until the baby was born. Then we returned to Dublin, said that it was Mam who had the baby, and from then on everyone referred to her as my sister, instead of what she really was."

"My God, that … that must have been difficult," Mary breathed.

Nuala nodded. "Even to this day I'm still afraid someone will find out, and they'll shout 'whore' at me and call my daughter a bastard behind my back. For a whole year I begged Damien not to go out and drink, because I worried he might get so drunk and spill my secrets to everyone in the pub."

Mary sniffled, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "Do you think he would have done that?"

"No," answered Nuala. "He's a good brother, and he's surprisingly sensible even after a few drinks. I doubt anyone has come close to finding out the truth."

She cleared her throat and blinked rapidly, and Mary could discern the moisture in her eyes despite the dim light in the kitchen. "But even so, I still wonder if, when I decide to marry, whether or not it would be right to tell the truth about … about what I did. I don't want to keep any secrets from my husband; I'd feel dishonest otherwise, like I'd caught him in a lie."

Mary nodded. She had had the same reason for wanting to tell Matthew about her past. "I know what you mean."

"But if I _do_ tell him, he might leave me," Nuala continued. "He may turn his back on me simply because I had a child out of marriage years ago. Some people simply won't forgive that … they look at you, and that's all they see. It doesn't matter what the circumstances are, if you wanted it or not, it's all the same to them. You're a fallen woman, and you can't change that, because apparently that's all that you are!" Her voice had been rising with pent-up anger, and she paused to collect herself.

"Then again, maybe he won't care," she went on. "Maybe he'll see past it and not judge me for it. If he does that, then I'll know that he truly loves me."

If only she had as much hope as Nuala at being loved, Mary thought. She seemed so hopeful that one day she'd find someone who would love her and marry her despite her past. Mary couldn't be sure that that would happen to her.

She flinched instinctively as Nuala touched her the hand that wasn't still gripping the cloth. She wanted to pull back, but she couldn't force herself to – Nuala's fingers on the back of her hand felt just as much of a comfort as her voice.

"When someone comes to you and asks to marry you, don't be afraid of what he may think," Nuala said. "If he loves you truly, your secret won't matter to him."

Mary's shaky laugh sounded like a gasp. "You say that like it'll actually happen. People don't forgive that sort of thing so easily."

"You don't know that for sure," Nuala tried to assure her. "You mustn't believe that, or else you won't ever let yourself find love."

To find love … to love and be loved in return … to spend the rest of her days next to someone who made her feel whole. It was the dream she never knew she had, but one she now hoped would come true. With this dreadful business with Carlisle, it would be a relief to know that the entire world hadn't abandoned her to the life of a disgraced spinster. And as unlikely as she believed that she could find love, Nuala's words gave her hope that, one day, she might.

"Don't be afraid to open your heart to love again," Nuala said. "If someone truly loves you, then they will not despise you because of your past. And if they don't … well, then you'll know it's not meant to be."

Mary pressed the cloth to her face to hold back her tears. Trying to contain her sobs was futile, but for once she wasn't concerned about how pathetic she must have sounded. It felt like forever before she had the courage to remove it from her damp cheeks and look up at Nuala again, who offered her a comforting smile.

"Are you feeling better now?" she asked.

Mary nodded. "Goodness, I must look like such a mess. I've never … I've never acted this way in front of anybody else."

Nuala hardly seemed bothered, like consoling blubbering people was a common thing to do. She pushed Mary's teacup closer to her. "Finish that off, then I think it's time we headed back to the hotel."

Mary nodded as she unsucessfully stifled a yawn. "I think you're right." She looked at the clock sitting on the mantel. "It _is_ rather late. And Sybil won't be happy with me if I'm yawning through the ceremony tomorrow."

"I'm sure nothing could make her upset," Nuala said, "save for Tom or anyone else being drunk." She went over to the couch to rouse Edith, gently telling her that it was time to go back to the hotel.

 _I wonder how they all got on tonight at the pub_ , Mary wondered as she finished off her tea.

* * *

As Nuala drove her and Edith back to the Shelbourne, Mary had time to think about what she had been told.

Despite knowing her for only a few days, and without _her_ realizing it fully, Nuala had seen what was in her heart. No matter what Carlisle decided to do, publish her past liaison or stay silent, fear would prevent Mary from taking any chances she had at love and marriage. Fear of being scorned, rejected, having her heart broken … could she do it, though? Could she actually learn to open her heart to love again? She knew the feeling of having her heart broken, and she didn't want to relive it.

The task of finding someone wouldn't be easy though, especially if Carlisle did decide to publish. Who'd dare to go near her? Anyone who would try to court or propose to her would risk having their reputations sullied as well. And even if Carlisle didn't reveal her secret, she was already known as a proud, wary woman, not the type that anyone would think wanted to marry for love. How far would she have to go to find someone who didn't already have an opinion of her? How long would she have to wait for her happy ending? Sybil had just about reached hers, and if news of her liaison got out, Edith would seem like a more valuable prize. That was something Mary wasn't sure she was prepared to deal with.

The one thing she couldn't stand at the moment, though, was Edith's head continuously bobbing against her shoulder as the car bounced over rough spots on the road. She had dozed off again not long after Nuala started the drive back to Shelbourne, though Mary was too distracted with her thoughts to push her away until they were a couple of blocks away from the hotel.

"Will you get off of me?" Mary forcibly pushed Edith off her shoulder.

Edith groaned as she blinked awake. "Huh? Wha … where … what time—?"

"We're almost at the hotel. You can sleep there," Mary retorted.

Soon enough, Nuala stopped the car outside of the Shelbourne, though Edith still seemed halfway between consciousness and sleep. "Do you think she can walk by herself?" Nuala asked. "Or should we get one of the porters to help us?"

"She's a lady, not a piece of luggage," Mary said as she started to nudge Edith out of her seat. "We can probably manage her between us as long as she can stand up by herself."

Edith didn't seem to regain any alertness, dragging her feet across the pavement and then the marble floor as Mary and Nuala guided her while holding her arms. Mary had thought crying in front of Nuala was embarassing, but having to lead her dazed sister through the lobby was far worse. Couldn't Edith have tried to stay awake until they at least got back into the suite? She imagined this was what bringing a drunk man back to his home was like—

"Wait .. isn't that Damien?" she wondered aloud, pointing to the vaguely familiar man coming down the staircase. Nuala followed her gaze, then frowned in confusion, which meant that Mary was correct in guessing who it was.

"Damien? What are you doing here?"

Damien stopped mid-stair, looking rather mortified that he had been noticed by his sister. "I was … dropping off Mr Crawley. I told you I would, didn't I?"

Nuala only looked more perplexed. "You didn't mention you'd be going all the way up to his room!"

Mary looked at Nuala and then back to Damien. "Has something happened to Matthew?"

"No, he's fine – _will_ be, I mean …" Damien sighed as he came down the remainder of the stairs, purposefully avoiding Nuala's stern glare. He told Mary, quietly, "Tomorrow morning, send a cup of strong black coffee to Matthew's room."

Nuala groaned loudly enough for the concierge to turn his head towards her. "Damien! I thought you—!"

Damien shushed her so she wouldn't attract more attention by shouting at him. "He'll be fine tomorrow morning, trust me. He just needs sleep and that coffee tomorrow morning. And he did his job right: Tom didn't come close to looking drunk."

"Well, I suppose that's something to be thankful for," Nuala replied sardonically.

Mary could hardly supress her grin. "Oh heavens, Matthew …" she muttered under her breath, chuckling softly. "I hope he didn't cause too much trouble!"

"Oh no, he was remarkably well-behaved," Damien said, smirking.

Mary laughed, still envisioning Matthew being somewhat the worse for drink. "Was he really?"

Damien pretended to rethink his statement. "Well, he said some rather bizarre things … but if you ask him about them I'm sure he'll be happy to—"

"Enough, Damien," Nuala snapped as she smacked the back of Damien's head. "Just go back home already."

"Jesus Christ," Damien hissed, recoiling from Nuala's smack. "I told you, Matthew is going to be fine tomorrow. You'll won't believe he was drinking at all."

Nuala scoffed. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Mary hadn't yet wiped the amused expression from her face when Damien said good night, then hurried outside so quickly it seemed he was afraid of being seared by Nuala's harsh glare. Edith hadn't shown any more awareness even when Nuala nearly shouted at Damien, so Mary and Nuala resumed guiding her up to her room. Somehow Edith's feet knew when to lift for the next stair, and they progressed up to the third floor without much trouble.

"I'm sure Matthew is perfectly alright," Mary reassured Nuala. "Or will be, as Damien put it."

"I hope so, for Damien's sake," Nuala retorted.

"Then I won't forget to send Matthew the coffee tomorrow," Mary decided, "just to be sure."

They proceeded down the corridor back to the suite; they passed Matthew's door, which Mary glanced as she walked by it. Whatever did Damien mean with what he said about Matthew being happy to repeat some of things he said at the stag night? What could he have possibly said while drunk that was worth repeating? And from the tone in his voice, Damien had heavily implied that he _wanted_ Matthew to tell Mary some of what he had said.

 _What did they put into your drink_? Mary thought as she turned away from Matthew's door to search for her own room key.

Even so, she was vaguely curious at what Damien had meant. She was inexplicably getting the feeling that she was meant to know what he had said … that she _needed_ to know. Maybe she _would_ ask Matthew about it, but definitely after the wedding – perhaps when they were back at home, during a quiet day when no one else was around.

Right now, though, she didn't want to let herself think about it for too much longer. There was a wedding in the morning, and it wouldn't be good to lose sleep over it.


	5. New Beginnings

_And now we've finally reached the end of this little story: it's the day of Sybil and Tom's wedding, and this is where all your questions will be answered. Have the Bransons succeeded in bringing to together Mary and Matthew? How will they declare their love for each other, and how will they react? Well, I shouldn't spoil things, but ... you can depend on a happy ending. ;)_

 _Thank you to all who have read and enjoyed this story and left reviews, but **thank you most to The Yankee Countess who provided the spark for this story**. I hope I have done a decent job with the prompt you gave me like five months ago, and I hope all you readers are satisfied with the conclusion. I can't say for certain if there will be a companion piece, but perhaps in the future you'll see more of the Bransons and the Crawleys together! _

* * *

Chapter Five – New Beginnings

It was the perfect day for a wedding, Mary thought, as she stepped out of the car and stood outside the church. The morning sun was shining brightly, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky or the smell of rain in the cool June air. Only a light breeze fluttered skirts and jackets. The doors to the church were open, so Mary could see the flowers in the narthex and the vivid stained glass in the sanctuary through which the sunlight shone to cast a rainbow of colours across the stone floor and wooden pews.

And Sybil shone brighter than the sun did: she was positively beaming as she stood surrounded by her sisters and Nuala, grinning from ear to ear. Her veil rippled in the light breeze, and Mary couldn't deny that, even with her lilac dress, she looked as radiant as any bride could possibly be.

"You look so beautiful," Nuala praised. "I bet Tom will shed a tear when he sees you walking down the aisle."

Sybil's smile grew even wider. It seemed she hadn't stopped smiling since Nuala, with Mary and Sybil in the backseat, had driven to Mrs Branson's home to take her to the church. There was no doubt she was eager to say her vows and be married to Tom, but she still had a few minutes to wait before all that could happen. Most of the guests had already filed into the nave by now, though a few family members were still lingering in the narthex. Tom would already be by the altar – was he trying to contain his excitement like Sybil was, or was he fighting back nerves?

Hopefully what transpired last night at the pub wouldn't show, Mary thought wryly. She then thought of Matthew, and she was glad that she had remembered to send a cup of black coffee to his room. She hoped that had he had drunk it – she hadn't seen him yet, since he had been picked up by Damien before Nuala had gotten to the hotel.

"Are you nervous at all?" Edith asked Sybil.

Sybil shook her head. "Not a bit. Though … I suppose I'm a little nervous that I don't feel nervous at all."

"You'll be fine," Mary assured her. "And you'll have Kieran to lean on when you walk down the aisle."

Kieran had offered to be the one to give Sybil away, seeing as Sybil's father was absent. It was a sincere gesture, one that meant a lot to Sybil and even more to Tom.

Sybil sighed. "I just feel … already, I feel so incredibly happy. I can't believe I'm here right now, at this moment I've dreamed of for so long." She looked towards the open doors of the church, and everyone knew she was thinking about the coming minutes, when she'd say her vows with Tom, he'd place the ring on her finger, and she'd take her first steps as a Branson, with him on her arm.

"The first one of us to find her happiness," Edith said.

"And you two will find yours someday, I know it," Sybil promised. She held her sisters' hands, gripping them fiercely. "I know this isn't the wedding you expected any of us would be having, but both of you being here means more than anything to me. It … it wouldn't feel the same without you. And no matter how far away I am … you will still be my sisters, always."

"Goodness, Sybil, I don't want to be crying just yet," Mary joked, though Sybil's affectionate words did leave her touched.

"So when you both find people who you love, I'll be there just as you are here for me," Sybil went on. "Nothing in the world could keep me away."

At that moment, the church bells began to toll. Nuala nodded to Edith and Mary. "You ought to go in and take your seats. The ceremony will start in a few minutes."

Mary gave Sybil one last kiss on the cheek, whispering "good luck" into Sybil's ear before waking into the church. As she walked into the narthex, she caught sight of Matthew standing by the nave doors. He didn't look half as bad as Mary was afraid he would be: that black coffee she had sent to his room must have worked a real miracle. He did look a little unsure of himself – probably wasn't sure where to go and sit.

She turned to Edith and said, "Go in and sit down. I'll follow in a minute."

As soon as Edith headed towards the pews, she strode over to Matthew, and when he saw her approach him, a smile spread across his face.

"Mary … you look rather lovely," he said wholeheartedly.

Mary smiled as she replied, "Thank you. You look quite nice yourself." It wasn't a lie – he looked quite handsome, even in a suit that he often wore to church, and up close she saw there wasn't much to hint at the events of last night.

"Do I?" Matthew sounded a little surprised. "I felt a bit out of sorts when I woke up; I was afraid it would show."

"You don't look out of sorts at all," Mary told him. "I assume the black coffee helped with that, though."

"It did, act—" He stopped short. "How did you know about that? Wait, did you send it this morning?"

Mary nodded. Matthew stammered, "Oh, well … thank you very much. It was just what I needed, in fact. But … how did you know I needec it?"

"It was Damien who suggested it," Mary clarified. "We ran into him after he had brought you up to your room."

Matthew grimaced, clearly embarassed that Mary had found out about that, but Mary touched his arm reassuringly. "Don't worry; I won't tell Papa about that. It'll be our secret. And I certainly won't judge you for that, as long as Tom's not worse off than you."

Matthew let out a relieved sigh. "Well, you and Sybil will be glad to know that I succeeded with him, if not with myself. I can't remember half the night, to be quite frank."

Mary recalled what Damien had told her last night, about Matthew saying some bizarre things that Damien implied she might want to hear. Of course, Damien could have simply been teasing her, or perhaps it was the drink inside of him talking, but Mary still had the feeling that she _should_ hear them. As long as Matthew was willing to repeat them – if he could even remember them.

She looked into the nave, where most of the guests were, either sitting in the pews or standing and chatting quietly with other guests. Tom's family, of course, with all the extentions filled up a great portion of their side, but to her surprise, Sybil's side was not completely empty! There were mostly women and a few men, none of whom were familiar to Mary, but she guessed these were her friends, nurses and perhaps some doctors from the hospital she worked at. It was nowhere near as full as the Bransons' side, but it was a comfort to know that Sybil's side would not look so sparse by comparison.

"I suppose we should go in and sit down," Mary suggested. She paused, and then added, "Why don't we sit together?"

Matthew blinked, stuttering, "Together … as in, sit next to each other?"

"Why not?" Mary gave him a reassuring smile. "You're part of Sybil's family, and you certainly can't sit all by yourself. I'll have Edith on one side, and you on the other."

Matthew's heart seemed to leap at her offer, his face bashful as he offered Mary his arm. "Lead the way, then."

Mary gently slipped her arm around his, and as they entered the crowded nave together, she noticed some of Branson family turning their heads and watching them, as if _she_ were the bride and Matthew was giving her away. Her heart skipped a beat – this was what it must feel like to walk down the aisle, taking her final steps as an unmarried woman, approaching a happy ending just as Sybil would very soon. And strangely enough … it didn't feel out of place at all to be walking with Matthew at her side, holding onto his arm and guiding him to where Edith was already sitting. It felt almost natural, as though this was all meant to be.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Damien sitting in the pews, watching her and Matthew walk together. He winked at her, and she returned a "whatever was that for?" look as she slid into the pew, sitting down next to Edith. Mary glanced back at Damien, still looking rather pleased at the sight of her beside Matthew.

"So," Matthew sighed, "the first of the Crawley sisters to reach her happily ever after."

"A most unconventional one," Mary quipped, "but I'm not bothered by that anymore. As long as she's happy, I'm satisfied. Tom will love her forever, and she has a new family here. To be honest, I think she'll have the happiest life out of all of us."

"You mustn't say that," Matthew argued quietly. "I'm sure you'll find your other half, and you'll be as happy as can be."

Mary looked toward the altar, where the father and Tom were waiting. Tom was wringing his hands, but his back was turned to the congregation. Nuala was likely too right about her assumption that he would tear up when he saw Sybil in her dress and veiled hat. That was what Mary wanted to happen at her own wedding someday: her soon-to-be husband would turn around and see her, standing beside him at the altar in a white dress and long veil, and his eyes would turn watery.

"The same goes for you," she said offhandedly. "You will find someone who truly loves you, and who _you_ truly love."

A wrinkle appeared between Matthew's brows. "You know … we were talking about this last night, at the pub … me and some of the Branson boys. About love and marriage and all that."

"Did this include Damien?" Mary asked sardonically. She leaned forward to catch another glimpse of Damien – who was still watching her! His head whipped towards the altar as soon as Marys eyes' met his, but Mary wasn't fooled in the slightest.

"Yes, Damien was included," Matthew said. "And he tole me something – I can't remember the words exactly … well, I think I can recall the gist of what he told me."

Mary's breath caught in her throat. _Oh, good heavens … is he really saying this now?_

Nevertheless, she found herself asking, "And what did he tell you?"

He was, evidently. "He told me … that I shouldn't wait to propose to the woman I love, or else I'll lose her to someone else."

Mary frowned, not entirely catching on to what he was talking about. "What do you mean, 'the woman I love?'"

Matthew didn't get a chance to even give her a hint: Nuala had just hurried in and taken her seat next to Damien, and that was the cue for the organ to begin playing. The congregation rose to their feet and turned to the open doors behind them. Mary craned her neck so she was able to see Sybil, with her bouquet in one hand and the other around Kieran's arm.

The guests sighed softly with awe as Sybil walked by, her smile even brighter than it had been outside; it must have taken her quite the effort not to hurry down the aisle. And Kieran was grinning as well, looking quite proud to be the one giving Sybil away. Sybil looked towards her sisters and Matthew as she passed them, and Mary couldn't help feel the pang in her heart as she realized that these were Sybil's final steps as a Crawley. In a matter of minutes, she'd be a Branson … and yet, Mary remembered, Sybil would never stop being her sister, just as she promised.

The final chords of the organ music echoed off the stone walls as Sybil reached the altar, and the wooden pews creaked as the entire congregation sat again. Mary could see Tom glimpse Sybil, and she knew for certain that his breath had been taken away by the sight of his beautiful bride. If there was a man in the world who looked at her the way Tom looked at Sybil, Mary would have no doubt that he would be the one.

The priest first led the congregation through a prayer in a booming voice, then looked to Tom first to address him.

"Thomas Branson … do you take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together in the holy estate of matrimony? Do you promise to love, comfort, cherish, and keep her in sickeness and in health, forsaking all others so long as you both shall live?"

Tom was already nodding while as the priest spoke, and when the priest was finished he gave an affirmative "I will."

The priest then turned to Sybil, repeating the vow for her. "Sybil Patricia Crawley, do you take this man to be your wedded husband, to live together in the holy estate of matrimony …"

As the priest continued, Mary began to think of what her wedding vows might sound like, and who she would be sharing them with. A husband to love her, comfort her when she needed it, who cherished her above any other person, and who would never leave her side …

She glanced up at Matthew, his eyes still fixed on Sybil and Tom. He must be thinking the same as she was: when would he stand at the altar, swearing to forever love and cherish his wife, just as Mary would swear to love her husband to the end of her days?

"I will," she heard Sybil pledge.

The priest nodded in approval, turning back to Tom. "Repeat after me, please. I, Thomas Branson …"

"I, Thomas Branson," Tom dutifully repeated.

"Take you, Sybil Patricia Crawley, to be my wedded wife …"

"Take you, Sybil Patricia Crawley, to be my wedded wife."

Mary could almost see the tears brimming in the corners of Tom's eyes. Was Sybil fighting back tears of her own? As Tom continued to repeat the words the priest prompted him with, she began to think … she began to wonder just who would be promising himself to her. What sort of man was he? Where was he now? And would she ever find him?

She realized that she was growing weepy herself, and tried to clear her throat softly to avoid drawing attention to herself. Matthew looked briefly at her, checking to see if she was alright—

And when their eyes met, realization struck Mary like a bolt of lightning.

"... 'till death do us part," Tom concluded.

 _The woman I love_ … _oh my goodness_ , Mary thought with absolute astonishment.

Matthew meant _her_. She was the woman he loved.

The priest addressed Sybil again. "Now … I, Sybil Patricia Crawley …"

"I, Sybil Patricia Crawley."

"Take you, Thomas Branson to be my wedded husband …"

"Take you, Thomas Branson to be my wedded husband."

How could she not have realized it before? The way Matthew always looked at her, spoke to her, how gently he held her hand … even with all they had been through, all the times she had let him down, made him believe that she was happy with someone else, he still loved her! It was always her whom he loved!

And suddenly, in that same moment, her own epiphany came to her: she felt the same way Matthew felt about her. She had never stopped loving him either, even after her heart was broken and she locked away the hope that she could find love again. She had never come close to loving someone quite as much as she loved Matthew, no matter how hard she tried. She cherished the little moments they had together, the brief touches and tender words they shared … nothing else could compare to how she felt when she was around him. Even now she could feel her heart pound, her hand itching to feel his touch again …

 _She loved him, and he loved her._

"To have and to hold," the priest continued, "from this day forward."

"To have and to hold from this day forward," Sybil said, as naturally as if she had been saying those words for days.

Mary's hand was resting in her lap, and slowly, inexorably, she let it slide away from her lap. She didn't need to look to know where Matthew's hand was, and when she felt his cool fingers she stopped, keeping her hand resting on the back of his.

"In sickness and in health …"

"In sickness and in health," Sybil recited.

Matthew's fingers intertwined with hers, and Mary was surprised at just how right, how complete it felt to be holding him, not as his friend, but as the woman he loved. He knew that she knew … and when she looked up at him again he was gazing down at her hand entwined with his.

It didn't feel like a renewal of the same love they had experience a long time ago. Instead, this shared emotion was a greater and stronger love, a love that had weathered the storms of time together, survived a battle of conflicted matters, and now it had the chance to flourish. Like Sybil and Tom's, it would endure until the end of their days, and even long after that, for nothing on Earth could come between them again.

Sybil finished her vows, and Kieran stepped forward to present the wedding bands. As instructed by the priest, Tom took the ring in one hand and Sybil's hand in his other. He echoed the priest's prompting. "Sybil … take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity … in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."

As Tom slipped the ring onto Sybil's finger, Mary looked down at her hand, still entwined with Matthew's. She listened to the blessing the priest gave over Sybil and Tom's clasped hands, but looking down at her hand joined with Matthew's, it sounded almost like a blessing meant not only for Sybil and Tom, but for her and Matthew.

"Let it be known from this day forth, that in the eyes of God, Thomas and Sybil are now joined together in holy matrimony, as husband and wife!" the priest declared.

Sybil and Tom both smiled broadly before leaning forward and having their first kiss as husband and wife, and applause rang out from all corners of the nave. Mary let her hand detach from Matthew's to join in the applause, a small tear running down her eye. If it was for herself or for Sybil, she couldn't say for sure – but at this moment, watching Tom and Sybil kiss, Tom's fingers interlacing into her hair, Sybil embracing him while still clutching her bouquet, she couldn't help but feel proud to witness the beginning of their happily ever after.

And hers, she knew, would not take long to follow.

* * *

Matthew was thankful that the wedding breakfast was at a different pub than he had been in last night. He had the feeling that, although Mary had promised to keep it a secret from her father, he was never going to forgive himself for getting drunk when he was supposed to be keeping an eye on Tom.

Here, though, it seemed like nothing was going to get out of hand. This pub was much bigger, and brighter, and no one seemed to be in the mood to drink until they couldn't walk. Instead, everyone seemed focused on keeping up the celebratory mood: laughter, cheering, and random toasts to the happy couple filled the room. Even while food was being passed around, the dancing in the center of the pub didn't pause, with everyone clapping in time to the exciting music of fiddles and flutes. It was like no wedding breakfast Matthew had been to before: there was no stuffiness or formality, no slow pre-rehearsed waltzes or insincere speeches – there was no chance of being bored here.

He and Mary sat together, watching the guests dance around the bride and groom, the cheering and applause loud enough to make his ears ring. Speeches and toasts had already been made in Sybil and Tom's honor, so there wasn't much else to do but finally celebrate their marriage with unabated merrymaking. The newlyweds were having their first dance, though it was closer to fast-paced whirling and jig-like steps, as about a dozen members of the Branson family danced around them at the same time, including Damien and a red-faced Kieran. Edith was sitting at another table, joined by a few of Sybil's friends who worked with her at the hospital.

"Can you imagine a having a dance like this back home?" Mary laughed over the din.

"That's rather difficult," Matthew replied. "Nothing this exciting could possibly gain your father's approval."

Mary had to agree with that. "Which is I think why I'm enjoying it so much."

The whooping of the dancing crowd crescendoed as Sybil and Tom leaned in for another enthusiastic kiss – now that they were properly married, they weren't going to hold back anymore. Mary couldn't help but smile as she watched them dance together, Sybil laughing as Tom spun her around and even dipped her. She was truly enjoying herself: this was a real celebration, not like the pompous, posh wedding breakfasts and receptions she had been to for other members of the peerage. At this one, there was no need for graceful waltzes or frilly ornamentations (although the pub was quite nicely decorated), no need to show off wealth or status. This was truly Sybil and Tom's day, and it would be one that everyone remembered.

The current dance ended, and Sybil and Tom kissed once again before they both collapsed into nearby chairs, still giggling and smiling. Sybil's hair was in a tangled mess, and Mary was almost certain that Tom was sweating. Even so, neither of them had ever looked happier. Some members of the surrounding crowd left the dance floor, but almost immediately another song was picked up by the band. How could hardly anyone be feeling exhausted? Just watching the dances made her feel dizzy.

A somewhat breathless Damien plopped himself down in the empty chair at Mary and Matthew's table. Matthew greeted him, chuckling when Damien commented on his improved appearance, but Mary groaned internally.

"Hello, Damien," she drawled. She hadn't forgotten how Damien had acted upon seeing her and Matthew sitting together in the church pew during the ceremony. No doubt he was just as pleased to see them sitting at the same little round table here in the pub.

"Good day to you too, Mary," Damien responded in a cheeky tone. "I'm glad to see you're enjoying yourself."

"Yes, I am enjoying myself," Mary said, keeping her eyes toward the people dancing in front of her.

Damien waited another minute, also watching the dance, before tapping Matthew on the arm. Matthew turned his head, and Mary glanced at the two of them through the corner of her eye.

"I saw that, you know," Damien said to Matthew.

Matthew furrowed his brow. "Saw what?"

Damien rolled his eyes. "You know what I'm talking about."

He reached over and took Mary's right hand and Matthew's left hand, folding Mary's hand over Matthew's and letting them rest on the tabletop. "That," he said. "I saw _that_."

Mary's mouth hung open, lost for words at first, staring at Damien with a perfectly aghast expression. Matthew simply looked down at Mary's hand on top of his, and the same small smile he had worn when Mary had placed her hand over his during the ceremony reappeared.

"And don't even think about denying it," Damien added. "I know exactly what I saw."

At last, Mary let out a haughty breath. "Oh my God … Damien, what were you doing looking at _us_? Instead of at your cousin who was saying his wedding vows?" she exclaimed as though she were utterly scandalized. "Just what did you think you were going to see?"

Damien let out a boisterous laugh. "Mary, please don't be angry. I wasn't looking at you two for the entire time—"

"You were watching us quite a bit before the ceremony," Mary snapped.

Matthew raised an eyebrow and looked at Damien. "Were you really?"

Damien didn't bother hiding the fact. "Yes, I was. But I wasn't constantly staring at you during the ceremony. Only when I got the feeling that this," he gestured to Mary and Matthew's hands, "might happen, then I decided to take a glance at you again, just for a second. And I wasn't disappointed."

"You had a feeling we would – oh my God," Mary muttered. She raised a hand to her face, covering her mouth … which Matthew realized was forming a grin.

"And you … you told him last night," she stammered, shaking a finger at Damien, "you told him to propose to _me_!" She sounded oddly excited, though more shocked than angry. "No wonder you were looking so pleased at us."

Damien nodded. "So he did tell you about last night, then? That happened sooner than I expected. But it wasn't just me, Kieran and Tom were just as involved—"

"What's all this?" Everyone looked up as Nuala came up to the table, and she gave a pointed look at her brother. "Is Damien being a bother? It looked to me like Mary was scolding him."

"He's not being _too_ much of a bother," Mary replied, smirking as Damien scowled. "It's just come as a surprise to me that he and his cousins have been recently acting as matchmakers."

"No," Damien objected, "the match had already been made. You two just needed a bit of help seeing it."

Nuala's face softened as she noticed Mary and Matthew's hands still touching on top of the table; she didn't need to ask what this was all about. She gave Mary a proud smile, glad that her talk from last night had been taken to heart. Of course, like Damien, she had known somewhat from the very beginning. And Nuala knew with hardly a doubt that Matthew would not care about Mary's secret at all when Mary decided to tell him … but she was still going to ask Damien how much he was consciously involved in this.

Damien leaned forward, patting Mary and Matthew's clasped hands. "If I may say so … I think you two are perfect for each other, and I'll be hard-pressed to find better people for both of you. Mary, if you heard even half of the things Matthew blurted out last night, you'd understand better why I urged him to propose to you. You deserve each other – no, you _need_ each other. And if you do get married, I'm certain you will be as happy as those two lovebirds over there." He pointed to Sybil and Tom sitting at a table at the other side of the pub, surrounded by friends and relatives, but they only had eyes for each other.

"I agree," Nuala admitted. "I believe you two are meant to be together."

Mary let out a trembling sigh, recalling the problem that had prevented her from accepting the possibility of love before. If Matthew had the courage to even imply that he was going to propose to her, then sooner or later she was going to need to tell him about her secret past … but for some reason, she wasn't scared that he would reject her or look down at her when she did. Whatever his eventual reaction would be, she wouldn't lose him over it. Her past wouldn't matter now – what mattered from this point on was her future.

She had a passionate feeling in her heart that this was the beginning of her and Matthew's story, just as today was the beginning of Sybil and Tom's long journey through life together. Matthew had confessed his true feelings (albeit in a drunken haze while being goaded by Damien and the other Branson boys) and she had decided to accept his love when she realized she felt the same way. They weren't engaged to other people anymore, they were free to marry each other now. They were free to love each other to the end of their days, just as Sybil and Tom had promised in their vows.

"So," Damien said to Matthew, "when _are_ you going to pop the question?"

"Certainly not here," Matthew remarked. "I didn't figure out _when_ , and you didn't make me decide a specific time and place while I was still muddled."

"Oh Matthew …" Mary giggled, "that's not important. I already know how I'm going to answer. I'm not going to make you wait forever like I did the last time."

The colour drained from Matthew's face, and his eyes widened with disbelief. "Do you … do you mean that … ?"

Mary gave him an arch smile. "I won't say it until you ask me _properly_. That's the only way you'll know for certain."

"So be it, then," Matthew said, though he looked just as happy as if Mary had already said her answer out loud. He clasped her hand with both of his, not taking his eyes off of her for a long while.

Damien got up and followed Nuala away, leaving the two Crawleys at their table. "All things considered, that's gone better than I expected."

"What _did_ you expect?" Nuala asked cynically.

"I thought Matthew would wait until they were at least back in England before he came clean!" Damien laughed. "I suppose it was too much for him to wait another day."

Nuala glanced back at where Mary and Matthew were sitting. "They do seem happy together, I'll grant you that. But since when did you decide to involve yourself in other people's love lives?"

"This was the only time!" Damien argued. "Kieran said the same thing to me last night, but he's just as guilty as I am. And I can tell _you_ had something to do with this as well."

Nuala scoffed. "I only told her to open her heart up to love. I didn't urge a drunk man to propose to the woman he loves. What if he didn't remember a word you said from last night?"

Damien shrugged. "Then I would have reminded him."

They navigated the crowded pub to where Sybil and Tom were sitting, with Kieran standing behind Tom. It hadn't escaped Sybil's notice that Mary and Matthew were seated together, their hands visibly touching as they rested on the tabletop, and it warmed her heart to see that. It was a stark change from even a few days ago, but she knew somehow that Tom's family – her family now – had something to do with it. She had always been convinced that Mary and Matthew were still in love, and whatever her new family had done or said to them that made them realize it, it appeared to have worked.

"I don't know what you all did to make that happen," she said to her husband and in-laws, "but I'm glad you did it. I never thought they'd be that way towards each other."

Kieran nodded, gazing at Mary and Matthew across the room. "They do look happy together."

Everyone stared at Kieran's sudden sentimentality. Tom jokingly jabbed his brother in the side. "Would you like to go to their wedding, Kieran?"

"What – no – I don't know," Kieran stammered, batting Tom's hand away. "Is there even going to be a wedding? Matthew hasn't proposed yet, has he?"

"Oh, I think there will be another wedding to prepare for soon," Sybil said knowingly. "It probably won't happen for a couple of months, but it _will_ happen, and I doubt we have very long to wait."

And she was right.

 _The End_


End file.
